


Charline

by BananaLoaf



Series: The Charline Series [1]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Family, Friendship, Romance, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 88,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaLoaf/pseuds/BananaLoaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charline D'Artagnan has been living and working alongside the musketeers for months, and no one has yet found out her secret. In the course of one day, however, her entire world is going to be turned upside down, and everyone is going to know the truth...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a wee idea for another story! I love the idea of a female d'Artagnan and the relationship she would have with Athos, so I decided to investigate it a bit. I've read a couple of other fics based around this idea, which I have loved, but I am in no way attempting to infringe on anyone else's ideas. An entirely orginal story, I promise! :)
> 
> I have no idea how long it's going to be, but there's always a bit of adventure to be had! I am open to suggestions or ideas of where you want the story to go, so please take the opportunity to let me know what you think.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Banana xx

Charline couldn’t believe she had gotten away with this for so long. For six months she had been living amongst them, training and fighting beside them, becoming one of them – the inseparables. No one knew her secret. She knew the punishment if she was caught, but she was determined to keep going. The threat of flogging or even execution wasn’t going to stop her being with them.

She had never expected to find her life here. She hadn’t really expected to find any kind of life again after her father was murdered in front of her. If she thought about that moment she could still feel the grief strongly enough to taste it, but she didn’t have time for that. She had to maintain her lie, and wallowing in grief was not going to help her do that. Sometimes at night, after a few hours in a tavern where she would pretend to drink more than she actually did, she would let herself have a moment or two to think about her father, and to wonder if he would be proud of her. He would be terrified for her, she knew, but really he had made her ready for this. Even in Gascony it was not normal for a girl to learn to fight with fists and swords, but in the absence of a son, Charline had been the choice for passing on his knowledge to. She thanked God every day that he had, or she would never be where she was now.

If she was honest with herself she could’ve easily died six months ago, on the day she had first entered Paris and that dark, sinister woman had attempted to seduce her. There was something about that woman that gave Charline shivers. She could’ve died on her second day in Paris, when she marched into the musketeers’ garrison and demanded a fight to the death. If her friends had not been such honourable men she would not have seen the end of that day.

Now, thanks to Porthos, she was stronger than ever and could use her slim size to dance around her opponent in a physical fight. Aramis had trained her to fire with deadly accuracy, both pistols and muskets, which had come in extremely handy over the last few months. Athos had made sure she had never been better with a sword, although she would keep pushing herself until she could beat him.

They were her only three friends in the entire world, the only ones who had her back, who cared what happened to her, and not one of them knew the truth. She felt guilty about it, but immensely grateful that for some reason their keen observations and ability to see everything that went on around them didn’t seem to work on her. 

But then, her disguise was pretty good. Before she and her father had left Gascony he had dressed her as a young man, concerned about thieves and bandits on the road to Paris. He had never told her why they were going, why they had left in such a hurry, but she hadn’t questioned him when he presented her with leather trousers and a jacket, old tattered riding boots and a hat. She had squirmed a bit but let him cut her hair too, her black tresses now varying in length from her chin to brush her shoulders. Now she looked like a slightly feminine 20-year-old boy. Who couldn’t grow facial hair.

Aramis had taken to teasing her about her lack of beard of late, pointing out that he had never seen her shave on any of the mornings he had appeared to collect her for early duty. She just shrugged it off, trying to look a bit pissed off about it, but inwardly amused. Aramis was so warm, so caring, his teasing never held any malice, and was never designed to hurt. She envied his ease with other people, but she was trying to emulate some of his more charismatic traits, with a fair degree of success. 

Three big brothers, it was more than she could ever hope for. She had two older sisters, but they were much older and had been long married and far away by the time she was old enough to miss them. She had never felt so protected, so part of something. As any little sister would she got annoyed with their over-protectiveness at times. Athos especially could be wary about letting her get involved in dangerous situations, like the whole mess with Vadim, and that was without knowing that she was, in fact, a girl.

She loved every minute of it though. She loved the freedom of being a man in Paris, the thrill of fighting, the pride of working alongside the musketeers. She loved Athos, Porthos and Aramis. What she didn’t love quite so much was standing around on guard duty for hours, or stable duty, or dealing with three drunken musketeers, or lying to Constance Bonacieux, who she felt could’ve been a good friend for a young woman in Paris.

This may have been her most hated moment of all though, in the last six months. This moment, right now. Forget being strapped to dynamite, or being forced to protect slave traders, forget the threat of the court of miracles, or having to make a woman believe her baby was dead, if only for a moment. It was this, and Charline couldn’t work out why.  
“D’Artagnan? You with us?” Porthos nudged her with his shoulder, nearly sending her flying as always.

“Yes, why?” Her tone was sullen, and she still couldn’t work out why.

Aramis obviously noticed. “Problem, d’Artagnan?”

She just shrugged. She was aware of Porthos and Aramis sharing a look over her head.

“Come on now, d’Art. A room full of beautiful young women? Not a bad way to spend the afternoon, don’t you think?” Porthos teased her.

“If you say so.” She tried to keep her voice lighter, but her eyes were firmly fixed on Athos and the blonde he was talking to.

Porthos followed her gaze. “You’re not jealous are you d’Artagnan?”

Her whole body froze instantly.

“You’ve still got a chance with her if you want it. She hates him anyway, it’s obvious.” Aramis spoke confidently, but d’Artagnan snorted. That woman did not hate Athos, it was perfectly clear.

The problem was, that Charline d’Artagnan had just realised, in one instant, that she only had two big brothers. Two big brothers, and a friend that she was very much in love with.

Oh god.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“You’re not jealous are you d’Artagnan?”

The words rang through her head continuously as they rode back to the barracks later. An innocent remark that had set off a chain reaction of realisation. How the hell had she not noticed this before? And what the hell was she going to do now?

They were still caught up in this business with Ninon, and Athos seemed particularly distracted by it, which wasn’t making d’Artagnan’s life any easier at this moment. How could she not have realised how different her feelings were for this quiet, troubled musketeer? Ignorance had really been bliss.

They rode into the garrison, Athos leading the way with Porthos and Aramis bickering quietly as usual behind him. D’Artagnan trailed at the rear, thoughts and emotions whirling in her head. God, she was being such a girl about this. She dismounted quickly, handing the reins over to a ready stable boy with a half-hearted smile, and walked quietly to the trough in the corner, reaching over to splash her face with the cold water and try to sort her thoughts out. She jumped out of her skin when Athos spoke behind her.

“Everything alright d’Artagnan?

“Oh, um, yeah, of course. Why shouldn’t it be?” Her voice only wobbled once, and lightly.

Athos was staring at her with that look in his eyes, a look of deep concern and slight confusion. It was the way he mostly looked at her when she went quiet, and for the first time d’Artagnan realised that the swooping sensation she always felt when he did was her heart skipping a beat. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but was interrupted by Treville’s voice sailing down from the balcony.

“D’Artagnan? Up here please. Alone.”

She looked up at the captain in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time he had asked to speak to her alone. Athos, Aramis and Porthos obviously couldn’t either, as they were all gaping at the captain in astonishment, and some confusion.

Without saying anything to them she stepped away from Athos and moved towards the steps, her heart now beating again but banging loudly against her ribs as she tried to swallow the sudden fear that Treville had somehow found out the truth. They would all hate her for the liar she was. Athos would hate her.

Moments later she entered the captain’s office, through the door that he held open and closed firmly behind her.

“Sit down please.”

Oh my. This was serious. She had never seen the captain looking quite like this. With a nod and a quiet ‘sir’ she did as he asked. She heard him sigh as he moved round his desk to sit across from her. He stared at her for a few moments, but didn’t say anything. 

“Is something wrong sir?” This time her voice definitely wobbled.

Treville cleared his throat. “D’Artagnan, there’s something you need to know. Well, a few things actually.”

Now she was genuinely confused. She waited for him to speak.

“I should have told you the moment you arrived, but I didn’t think I needed to then, and I hoped I wouldn’t need to later.” He stood up from the desk and moved to pace behind it, clearly agitated. Eventually he stopped and looked at her, a strange sadness in his eyes. “When you headed to Paris with your father, you were coming here. I knew your father d’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened as she realised what he was saying. If he knew her father, then he could have known that he never had a son, that she...oh shit.

“I know the truth, Charline. I always have.”


	2. Chapter 2

Her voice came out in a strangled whisper. “Captain, I’m sorry, I never-” She stopped suddenly as Treville held up a hand.

“You need to understand this d’Artagnan. You were coming here, to me, for this. To stay here under my protection. You were always meant to become Charles d’Artagnan.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

Treville sat back down. “I need to go back to the beginning I think. Your father and fought together for France as young men, many years ago, before you were even born. You know that he was away between the time your older sisters were born and then you?”

D’Artagnan nodded, still confused as to what the hell was going on here.

“Well, at that time he and I spent some years together, fighting in the King’s army. We became good friends, and we kept in touch. You must understand that we were like brothers, we fought together as a pair, like your three friends downstairs.”

“Then why have I never heard of you before?” Charline realised that she probably sounded impertinent to the captain, but she was aware that by the end of this conversation in all likeliness he wouldn’t be her captain anymore. The thought filled her with a strange emptiness. 

“I’m afraid that is what brings us to this point. During our time in the army, your father got himself into a little bit of bother with a man who took against him. He felt that our commander favoured your father, as he was also a Gascon man, and that he himself was treated as a lesser being, despite also being from the area. His argument was, of course, flawed, but it is true that the commander favoured your father, but not over everyone. He treated all of his men well, but this man was unruly, prone to violence and a poor soldier.”

She sat fascinated, tears filling her eyes as Treville spoke of her father with respect and warmth in his voice. She had never heard anyone speak about him this way before. Life on the farm had been pretty isolated, especially after her mother had died.

“Anyway,” the captain continued, magnanimously ignoring the teary state of the young woman in front of him. “There was an incident some time after we all began working together, and it emerged that someone from our company had stolen some food from a couple of farmhouses, and attacked a young woman. Your father had evidence of who it was. When he told our captain what he knew the man was flogged and kicked out of the army. There was no evidence of the attack, and only evidence of him eating the stolen food, so his punishment was taken no further. He swore revenge on your father, threatening to repay him one day.”

As the captain finished speaking he gazed at her again for a few moments, sadness in his features as he remembered his friend fondly.

“I’m still not sure what this means for me, Captain.”

Treville leaned forward onto the desk, his hands clasped in front of him as he locked eyes with her.

“Your father was bringing you here, with the intention of leaving you in my care, because we believed his man had been looking for him.”

“You mean he was coming for us? After all this time?” Her mouth hung open like a fish.

Treville nodded. “For years your father waited on his arrival at the farm, at various points considering taking you and your mother and moving away. But he never told your mother why, not wanting to scare her, and she didn’t want to leave the farm. When she died and he was left with you he decided to stay put, thinking that by now the danger was probably gone.

“I wrote to your father just over six months ago, telling him that word had reached me of this man being seen once more, approaching the border of France from Spain, where it seems he had fled to. He was heading for Gascony, so I believed, so I thought it imperative to tell your father that our plan, made years before when you were just a young girl, must be put in motion. He sent me word that you were on your way within the day of receiving my letter.”

It was a lot to take in, and Charline knew it was going to take some time to come to terms with every bit of what she had just been told. Currently, there was one question that needed to be answered.

“Is he coming for me, is this why you are telling me this now?” She bowed her head a little, breaking her gaze from the captain’s face. She did not wish to see pity in her face, or for him to see the fear in hers.

“I am still unsure of if he knows of your existence, d’Artagnan. But I’m afraid he reached your home last week. The neighbour who was looking after it for you, Bertrand, wrote to me and told me men had been seen going to the farm, but no one answered their questions. We must be vigilant from here on d’Artagnan, which is why I am telling you now.”  
Her heart was in her throat. “Bertrand, is he alright? His family?” She gripped the arms of her chair tightly as she thought of the caring man or one of his sons being hurt by this man looking for her father. 

The captain held up his hands to calm her. “He is fine d’Artagnan. They were working their own land at the time, nowhere near the house. But there is something I must tell you.” He sighed audibly.

The grip on the arms of the chair tightened even further as she waited for the impact of what he was going to say.

“The farm, d’Artagnan. It’s gone.” The captain’s eyes were full of pity when hers snapped back up to meet his in shock. “Labarge and his men burned it to the ground.”

She quickly swallowed the gasped sob that welled up in her throat as a sharp knock was rapped on the door. She heard it open and recognised instantly the tread of Athos as he stepped into the room.

“Apologies Captain, but we must continue with our investigation.”

Charline pleaded silently with the captain, refusing to turn to look at the musketeer behind her. Please don’t let them see me like this. 

“Then you will go without d’Artagnan.”

“But captain, I-”

“I said he stays here, Athos. Please leave us.”

The door closed again behind her as Athos left, and the captain shook his head after him. “He would never have burst into my office without waiting for a command before you appeared d’Artagnan. Never.”

She didn’t really know what to say to that, until a thought suddenly struck her. “Wait, sir, you said ‘he’ stays here, not ‘she’. Do you mean that, that they don’t know the truth?” She gaped at him, sure that Treville would have shared the secret with his most trusted men. Surely this was the reason they had taken her under their wing.

“I have told no one, d’Artagnan. I had no need to. I knew who you were as soon as you arrived of course, but when I heard my musketeers talking about this cocky young whelp turning up and challenging Athos to a duel, I knew that you would play your part well. Your father worked hard training you for this, just in case. Everything he taught you to do, he taught you to do it like a man. Besides, if Athos hasn’t worked it out, then no one will.”

She didn’t really know what to feel about this. On one hand she was pleased that she had fooled everyone so well that she hadn’t even been instructed to do so. On the other she was dismayed that her friends still did not know that she was a liar, and at some point she was going to have to witness that discovery.

Suddenly, she sat up straight in her chair. “Are you going to tell them? Do I have to leave? Do I have to be myself again?” The panic was clear in her voice.

“D’Artagnan, as I have explained to you this was always the plan. You will stay here, as Charles D’Artagnan, until we find out where Labarge is and have him dealt with. As for your friends, they have a right to know what could be coming.”

“But, they will hate me.” Her whispered voice was brimming with emotion, bringing a blush to her cheeks as she realised that she had never sounded like such a girl in the last six months. So much for maintain the persona of Charles.

“They may treat you differently, Charline, but I do not think they will hate you. They already care for you too much for that. But they must be told, as the men who are closest to you.”

She nodded miserably before putting her face in her hands and taking several deep breaths as she tried to calm down. She heard footsteps then a hand squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Do you want me to tell them?”

She lifted her head to look at the captain, now standing beside her, concern in his eyes.

“Can I, can I think about that?”

Her shoulder was squeezed once again. “Alright. But you must tell me tomorrow. Putting it off won’t make it any easier. For now I will tell them when they return that you have had some bad news from home, that I have sent you home and that you are not to be disturbed until tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, go home.” The captain moved away from her and she nodded to him, wiping her face a few times with her fists before squaring her shoulders and heading towards the door. “D’Artagnan?” She stopped and turned back.

“Captain?”

“In my experience women deal better with things when they talk about them. Madame Bonacieux is a very trustworthy woman, and already a good friend to you. “

D’Artagnan nodded in agreement. “Captain.” With a nod she was out the door, pulling it shut behind her and her hat pulled down over her face. Thankfully the yard was empty as she strode through it out into the street, making her way quickly through the side streets to the Bonacieux residence.

Perhaps a friend to confide in was something she needed. But would Constance understand the lies, or would she be the first to turn away from her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter fills in a bit of background for d'Artagnan, and for us!
> 
> From here we're obviously going to take some detours from the series, but then it is an AU story! 
> 
> Thanks for the Kudos! Makes me feel all warm in side. :)
> 
> Banana xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having to deviate a little from the plot of the series, to match up with what I've changed already. Hopefully everything will be clear enough!
> 
> Thank you for your kudos, and to IWillNeverStopFangirling for taking the time to leave a comment. Much appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Banana xx

Constance was in the kitchen when Charline arrived home, but quickly emerged wiping her hands on a cloth, obviously surprised to see her back at this time of day. She took one look at the miserable face in front of her and swept her lodger into the kitchen, sat her down at the table and put a cup of wine in front of her.

“Drink that, then tell me what on earth is the matter.” As usual, when Constance gave an order it was obeyed, and d’Artagnan found herself with wine in hand, draining the warm liquid in two quick gulps. When she placed the empty vessel back on the table Constance was standing across from her, looking at her expectantly.

“Well? Is this about that girl that was killed this morning? I heard about that, horrible business. My neighbour knew her, I think you spoke to her about it afterwards.” The eyebrows were raised in that way that always made d’Artagnan squirm, and always managed to get the truth out of her.

She sighed, and shook her head. She was a little ashamed at how little thought she’d had for the poor girl since this morning. “It’s not that. It’s a long story Constance.”

“It’s just as well I’ve got time then, isn’t it? Bonacieux won’t be home until tomorrow, so I can stay here all night if I have to.” Now the hands were on the hips. Uh oh.

D’Artagnan rolled her eyes at Constance’s usual obstinacy, but found herself feeling comforted by the genuine concern she could see in her friend’s eyes. This was going to be difficult, but she owed it to Constance to tell her the truth, after everything she had done for her. If it wasn’t for Constance she may not have somewhere to live, hell if it wasn’t for Constance they may never have proved Athos’ innocence all those months ago, and her father’s death may not have been revenged.

Charline reached to her neck and grasped the small chain that hung there, a nondescript piece of jewellery that had belonged to her mother. Her talisman of courage. She took a deep breath, bowed her head, then let the whole thing out in a desperate rush.

“I lied to you Constance, I’m truly sorry. I’m not even who I say I am, I’ve lied to everyone. When I came here my father made me disguise myself, and I became Charles d’Artagnan. Honestly, I am Charline, the youngest daughter of Alexandre d’Artagnan, not his son. I never knew the truth of why until today, but after he was murdered on our journey it seemed safer to keep up the facade, and then they let me stay with the musketeers, and then it went on so long that I didn’t know what to do. I’ve felt so guilty all this time about lying to my friends, including you, and I am truly, truly sorry. I will understand if you hate me, but I felt like I needed to tell you. I owe that to you, at least.”

Silence stretched on for a few moments after she had rushed out her apology, and eventually d’Artagnan had to lift her head and look at Constance, bracing herself for the anger and derision she expected to see. What she didn’t expect to see was the woman smiling at her warmly, a look of quiet contemplation on her face.

Puzzled, d’Artagnan sat straight up, her confusion etched clearly on her features.

“Charline? That’s nice. I’ve been wondering what you’re real name was.”

D’Artganan’s brain turned into a black hole of nothingness for a few moments, before she shook it off and gaped at Constance.

“You what?! You knew, this whole time? But why... Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed.” A flush crept over her and she covered her face with her hands as she contemplated the fact that she had spent the last six months trying to act like a man, and Constance had seen right through her.

Constance laughed gently as she sat at the table next to d’Artagnan and pulled the hands away from her. “I knew pretty quickly, yes. You’re good, really good actually, but there were a few tiny things that gave you away.” D’Artagnan groaned, but Constance’s smile just grew wider. “Firstly there was your reluctance to kiss me.”

“What? But I-”

“The first time we met d’Artagnan, you needed to hide out in the market, do you remember? Well you hid by grabbing me and kissing me, but you didn’t really kiss me at all, did you? You missed my mouth completely and used your hat to hide us.”

D’Artagnan blushed a little as she remembered. Desperation had led to her grabbing Constance, but she couldn’t have really kissed her. “I hoped you would put that down to chivalry,” she admitted.

“I did, for a while. But you were a 20-year-old boy, not taking the chance to kiss an attractive young woman? Doubtful.” She grinned at her.

“I’m 25.”

“What? You said you were twenty!”

“It explained the lack of beard didn’t it?” She found herself grinning back at Constance.

“I suppose. But then there were a few other things, like you always having your door locked, even when you went to just change your shirt.” Constance’s face grew serious. “You also sound like a girl when you’re having nightmares, which you did for a while after you moved in.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “My father.” She didn’t add that those nightmares had turned into not being on time to save Athos after the fire. How on earth had she not seen then that she was in love with him? Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at her own denseness.

“I don’t hate you d’Artagnan. I always figured there was a good reason you were hiding who you were, and I hoped you would tell me eventually. I’m glad you have.”

The warm smile that was sent to Charline was returned with a beaming grin of relief. She had a friend, some support, and someone who knew the truth. 

Cold dread suddenly made her shiver.

“Wait, you don’t think that the others-”

Constance snorted. “They haven’t noticed anything d’Artagnan. They’re men! Not even Aramis and his ability to spot a woman at one thousand paces would see through your disguise. You’ve done it brilliantly, honestly.”

“My father, he prepared me well for this.” 

“What do you mean?”

D’Artagnan explained the events of her day to a very sympathetic Constance, filling her in on Treville’s place in the plan, on the history with her father and this thug, Labarge. From there they moved on to discussing d’Artagnan’s childhood in Gascony, the thrill of learning to shoot and fight like a man. They talked for a long time, and by the end of it d’Artagnan found herself promising to teach Constance to defend herself using her body, to go along with the shooting and fencing lessons they had already begun. 

“So what now?”

“Now I have to decide whether I tell Athos, Porthos and Aramis the truth myself, or let Treville do it for me tomorrow.”

“What are you thinking?”

D’Artagnan sighed. “I think I should do them the honour of admitting my lie to them face to face, but I don’t know if I can take looking at their faces as they realise the truth, as their feelings towards me change and they turn away.”

“They might surprise you. They do care about you a lot you know.”

She nodded glumly. “I know. I’ll think about it, and let the captain know in the morning.”

Constance reached over and squeezed her hand, before returning to the food she had been preparing hours earlier and resumed cooking them a meal. D’Artagnan stood and moved beside her, leaning against the dresser next to her.

“Where do they think you are just now?” 

“They left to continue an investigation. Treville is going to tell them about the farm when they get back, tell them to leave me until morning so I have time to think.”

Constance stopped chopping vegetables and glanced sideways at d’Artagnan. “Do you really think they won’t come looking for you when they hear about the farm?”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened as she realised Constance was right. There’s no way her friends would leave her alone to wallow, they’d be here to drag him to a tavern in no time.   
“Constance, you have to help me if they do turn up, I-”

She was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. At the panicked look on her face, Constance gently pushed her back towards the chair she had been in before, placing the bottle of wine in front of her, and went to answer the door.

“Madame Bonacieux. We are here to see our young friend, if you don’t mind.” Aramis’ smooth voice carried into the kitchen from the hall outside. Charline couldn’t help smiling as she heard Constance’s response.

“He’s in there. He’s had a bad day, mind, so you watch yourself. I don’t want you, or you, making him any worse than he is.”

Just two of them then. She wondered who hadn’t come.

She didn’t look up as the footsteps entered the room, just pulled some cups from the cabinet beside her and began filling them with wine. A heavy hand clapped onto her shoulder. Must be Porthos.

“D’Artagnan? Treville told us.” Panic seized her once again for a moment, before she realised he just meant about the farm. “Are you alright?”

She looked up as both Porthos and Aramis slid into seats at the table, Constance taking her place by her cooking once again.

“Not really, no.” She tried to keep her voice in its usual low cadence, which was more difficult when she was so emotional, but she just about managed. “But I will be, I guess.”

“Treville said it was arson. We’ll find out who it was and tear them to pieces lad, don’t worry.”

“And you get to tear the first chunk off, of course.” Aramis - ever a campaigner of fairness.

D’Artagnan smiled at her friends, unendingly grateful for the support these men had offered her without question for the last six months. “Thank you.” She straightened her shoulders and gave them Charles d’Artagnan’s cocky grin. “I think I’ll require the first few chunks though, if you don’t mind.”

Porthos grinned at her, while Aramis bowed in mock-reverence. “Whatever you wish master, whatever you wish.” 

A plate of cold food was suddenly placed in front of each of them, which they thanked her for and tucked into eagerly. Constance stood at the side of the table with her hands once more on her hips. “There’s usually three of you haunting my home. Where’s Athos?”

Porthos and Aramis grinned at each other. “He is enjoying someone else’s company this evening Madame, sharing dinner with Ninon de Larroque according to what we eventually got out of him.” Aramis grinned lewdly as he spoke, earning a cuff round the ear from Constance.

D’Artagnan forced a laugh, but it sounded weak to even her ears. “So much for her not liking him Aramis.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to her instantly, then Porthos’ hand was once more on her shoulder. He was going to break it one of these days. “He wasn’t with us when Treville told us. He’d be here if he knew, lad, have no doubts about that.”

D’Artagnan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

For a few minutes they sat quietly, Aramis and Porthos finishing their meals with gusto while d’Artagnan dealt with her suddenly breaking heart. She was aware of Constance’s eyes firmly on her face, until Aramis finished his meal and stood. With a grand sweeping of his hat he bowed to Constance, kissing her hand. “Many thanks Madame for your generosity, always a beacon of light in the darkness of this city.”

Constance raised an eyebrow at him dismissively, but there was a faint blush to her cheeks as she pulled her hand away. “Get away with you Aramis, and you Porthos. I’ve got things to do and I don’t need you cluttering up my kitchen.”

The big musketeer pulled himself to his feet, also bowing his thanks to their impromptu hostess, before turning to d’Artagnan. “We’re going to keep an eye out at Ninon’s place. You coming?”

“Not tonight, Porthos.” She couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting outside a building on watch while Athos was inside with that woman. “I have to write some letters, to my neighbour and sisters.” 

Porthos gazed at her for a long moment before nodding. With a quick goodnight he and Aramis left, clearly satisfied for now that d’Artagnan would be ok for the time being.

Charline finished her meal quietly, aware of Constance bringing her own meal to the table and sitting across from her. D’Artagnan had finished her meal and pushed the plate away from her before Constance spoke.

“Are we going to talk about that too?”

“What?” D’Artagnan had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming.

Constance’s voice was deliberately casual. “Oh, nothing really. Just the fact that you are clearly in love with the musketeer we know as Athos.”

D’Artagnan missed the grin that spread over Constance’s face. She was too busy groaning and dropping her own head onto the table with a thump.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued encouragement guys! Makes my life a happier place.
> 
> Time to start telling... :)

D’Artagnan was grumbling to herself as she made her way to the barracks early the next morning, a good distraction from what was ahead of her. 

She was half convinced that Constance had some kind of supernatural powers. Not only had she discovered her (as she had thought) secret feelings for Athos, she’d also managed to get her to spill all the details of them to her, with very little persuasion. How could Constance read her so easily? It was infuriating, and a little unsettling. Even after the truth was out she needed desperately to keep the truth of her feelings from Athos, and that wouldn’t happen if she could be read so easily.

There was no way that she was going to tell him the truth and he was going to respond by dropping to one knee and declaring his love for her. She smiled sadly as she pictured the stoic man on his knees, heart on his sleeve and tears in his eyes as he begged her to love him. Not going to happen. He wouldn’t be Athos if he did such things anyway.   
He had been more open with her for a while now, gradually building since he told her the truth about his lost love, about the woman who had tried to burn him alive in that soulless house. He had made it clear to her that he was done with women, with love and marriage, so she had no hopes at all. 

She tried not to think of Ninon de Larroque. 

She couldn’t imagine how he was going to feel or react when he realised that he had finally revealed his secret, finally shown some vulnerability, to a woman.

It was this reason, and not because she couldn’t face him yet (honestly) that she was going to tackle today in the way she had decided after hours of sleepless deliberation.  
She was going to do the right thing and tell them herself. She just wasn’t going to tell them all at the same time. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time she left her meeting with Treville, explaining what her plan was and begging for time to tell them, the three inseparables were already sitting at their usual place in the yard, a space left for d’Artagnan as usual. They were deep in conversation, both Porthos and Aramis talking animatedly to Athos, who looked like he wasn’t being persuaded to agree with them.

Taking a deep breath she started down the steps, nearly at the bottom before they noticed her presence. Athos was immediately on his feet and making his way over to her. He grasped her warmly by both shoulders, looking at her with concern.

“Aramis and Porthos told me. I apologise for not being there for you d’Artagnan. Are you alright?”

She shrugged, no mean feat when your shoulders are being tightly held, and nodded at him. She tried not to think about where he had been instead. He looked slightly doubtful at her weak smile, but he stepped back and let her go, walking quietly beside her as they made their way over to the others. She slid into her usual seat, nodding a greeting at Porthos and Aramis, who were also looking at her with the same concern on their faces.

She rolled her eyes at them. “I’m fine guys, really. At the end of the day it was just a farm right? I didn’t even live there anymore! No one was hurt, and that’s the main thing.”

“What about the money? Don’t you need that to live here?”

“The captain is sorting something for me, and Constance is going to let me live there for free until it’s done.”

“Oh yeah?” Aramis grinned at him. “Does Monsieur Bonacieux know about this little, ah, arrangement between you and his wife?”

Charline blushed to the roots of her hair, as she always did whenever Aramis teased her about Constance. Well that was something that would stop soon.

“It will be fine.”

“Now that’s what I call a noncommittal answer, what do you think Porthos?” Aramis nudged the taller man beside him.

“I think you might be right Aramis. If the boy wants to make himself an arrangement with the lovely Madame Bonacieux who are we to stop him, eh?”

They were both grinning at her now, Aramis sending exaggerated winks her way, making her laugh. Even Athos chuckled beside her at the ridiculous look on the man’s face.

Before they could tease her anymore, Captain Treville called over to them as he made his way down the stairs, his intention clear to d’Artagnan immediately.

“Athos, Aramis, it’s time to go. Porthos, I need you with d’Artagnan today at the palace. Take this and deliver it to the king.” He handed a scroll over to Porthos.

Charline looked inquisitively at Athos and Aramis as they both stood to join the captain. Neither of them answered the obvious questions on her face, just intimated they would see her and Porthos later and left the yard. She turned to Porthos instead.

“Where are they going?” She stood and climbed out of her seat, joining Porthos as he started towards the stables.

“Court. Ninon was arrested last night. They’re going to ensure fair play.”

“Oh. Arrested for what?”

“Witchcraft.”

“Oh wow. That’s not good.”

Porthos chuckled. “It’s not the best, no.”

She smiled wryly. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted today.” 

A shrug. “No worries. You’re allowed to be.”

D’Artagnan said nothing more as they mounted and rode out, heading towards the Palace. They had a good hour of riding to do, which should be ample time to speak to Porthos. Obviously this had been the captain’s plan. So much for in her own time. She sighed. Porthos glanced at her, but she just shook her head.

They rode side by side for almost ten minutes, leaving the built up area of the city behind them, before Porthos reined his horse in and waited. D’Artagnan carried on for several more paces before she realised she had left her companion behind. As she turned her horse and walked it back to meet him she wondered how long she had been in her own world, ignoring any attempts at conversation that Porthos was bound to have made. 

“There’s something else,” he said bluntly. 

“What do you mean?” Why was she stalling? Just tell him!

“There’s something else bothering you. You were honest when you said you were alright about the farm this morning, but there’s more going on than just that. I can see it.”

She had forgotten how good Porthos was at seeing people, really seeing them. He was always the first to know when something was bothering Aramis and Athos. After the death of Marsac it was Porthos who had seen through Aramis’ mask and confronted him about it. He had seen how lost Aramis was after that business with the baby last month, had spoken to him about his wishes for a family, a future. Athos was a different story, but Porthos had clearly noticed that he was confiding in d’Artagnan a little more, as he kept dropping hints to her that if the burden was too much he would be there.

The best big brother a girl could hope for. Of course he was going to realise that something was wrong. 

“Can we, can we talk somewhere else?” She gestured at the horses they were still astride, and the public road that they were riding along.

Without a word Porthos dismounted and led his horse off the road and into the trees at the side. Grateful, she did the same and followed him as he made his way into the woods. After a few minutes of walking, he paused and tied his horse to a tree, moving a few paces away and sitting casually against another. With shaking hands, D’Artagnan followed his lead and tied her horse up, before sitting next to a tree beside Porthos’. He just looked at her patiently, waiting for her to begin.

There was no turning back now.

She took a deep breath and spoke. “I’ve been lying to you, to all of you, but now I have to tell you the truth.” She glanced at Porthos who was just watching her calmly, nothing to be read in his face other than concern. “I’m not who I told you I was, I had to pretend when I got here and it all just got a little out of control.”

“What do you mean you had to pretend? Who are you then?” Porthos just sounded confused, rather than angry. Okay, so this was a fairly promising start, but now for the big stuff.

She felt tears build in her eyes as she prepared to speak. Damn her for being so girly at a moment like this, she needed to convince him she was the same person he had always believed her to be. But she was scared.

“I am still d’Artagnan, and my father was Alexandre d’Artagnan, as I told you. But I, well I am not Charles.”

“I’m really not getting this lad, who are you then? Jacques? Henri? Louis?” He sounded almost amused.

“Charline.”

Porthos laughed, loudly, but stopped abruptly when he looked at her and realised that she was telling the truth, apparently seeing that her fear was clear on her face.  
“You mean you’re a girl?!” His mouth dropped open.

She nodded, willing the tears not to fall, and desperately searched his face for any sign of the hatred that she was waiting for.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, if that isn’t a turn up for the books.” Porthos looked completely taken aback. Well at least someone hadn’t seen through her. “Why? I don’t understand this d’Artagnan.”

“I had to when I came here looking for Athos, you would never have take me seriously if I arrived as a girl, would you?” He had to agree with that. “I was already disguised anyway, trained by my father to act like a boy for reasons I didn’t understand until yesterday.”

“Well he did a bloody good job! My God. Don’t I feel like an idiot! How could I not notice you were a girl?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you all, but I just felt so, happy I suppose, to be part of it all that I didn’t want it to stop.”

“Wait a second, what reasons? Why did your father disguise you?”

Briefly, she filled him in on her conversation with the captain the day before. To her surprise Porthos just listened carefully, then nodded as she finished.

“Well I can see the reasons for it I suppose. And we have to go along with the pretense of d’Artagnan the musketeer trainee for now?”

She nodded eagerly. “Absolutely.”

Porthos grinned at her. “You’re rather enjoying it aren’t you?”

“I have loved almost every minute of the last six months Porthos. In all honesty, I feel alive. I want to go on feeling it for as long as possible.” She grinned back at him, realising that her watery eyes had dried up. She should’ve known that Porthos would take it all in his stride. It was who he was. She could’ve told him she was the King in disguise and he would’ve found a way to understand.

He grew serious. “You could get in real trouble though, a female impersonating a soldier.”

“I know. We need to think about that. Once I’ve told the others.”

Porthos looked surprised. “You mean I’m the first? I would have thought-” He stopped.

“Would’ve thought what?”

“Athos.” He shrugged, then grinned when he saw her shake her head vigorously. “Ah I see. A little worried about telling our resident grump? Well fair enough. Aramis next then.   
Soon I hope?”

“I’ve got to tell all of you today. The captain said. I told him I wanted to do it one by one, so he arranged this little mission for us I think.”

“Hmmm, figures.”

“What do you mean?”

“It makes sense that I’d be first. Know all about keeping secrets, don’t I?”

Now she was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t exactly tell the truth about where I came from when I first joined up.” 

“He’s quite clever that captain of ours.” D’Artagnan grinned at Porthos, relieved to get one returned.

“He’s not bad, he’s not bad.”

They sat there for a few minutes more, neither speaking, and both deep in thought. D’Artagnan had only just realised how hard her heart had been beating the entire time, as it now slowly settled back down to a normal rate. The captain really was smart. Porthos should have been her obvious choice to confide in first, but she still couldn’t believe how well he had taken it. Sure he was confused, but he didn’t seem hurt by her lies, or angry at her and inclined to dismiss her entirely.

Eventually Porthos pulled himself to his feet. He walked over to her and offered his hand to pull her up. She hesitated, until he rolled his eyes, reminding her that he would have done the same for her when he thought she was boy. Sheepishly, she smiled at him and took the hand offered to her. He did surprise her, however, when he pulled her into a tight hug. She froze for a moment but quickly relaxed into his comforting grip, wrapping her arms round him and returning the gesture.

“It’ll be ok d’Artagnan. You’ll see.”

“Thanks Porthos.”

They pulled away from each other and moved back to their horses.

“Come on, we better get to the palace. We’ll need to get back so you can tell Aramis and Athos.”

She nodded, her face whitening considerably as she thought about doing this twice again. They untied the animals and she saw Porthos hesitate as she went to mount.

“I’m still d’Artagnan Porthos, still as capable of doing everything that I could do ten minutes ago.”

He just nodded at her then mounted his own horse with a smile, watching as she did the same. She snorted when he commented. “Very manly.”

“I’ve just realised something.” Porthos said after they had been riding towards the palace again for a few minutes. “That’s why you never took your shirt off when we sparred, no matter how sweaty you got.” He grinned at her blush and shook his head. “You need to get ready for it d’Art, Aramis is going to be much worse than me when you tell him.” He laughed as she paled even further. He was absolutely right. Aramis was going to make her life hell until the truth was fully out.

“Thanks for that.” She groaned.

They rode for a few minutes further.

“Porthos?” He looked over at her and she smiled shyly at him. “Thanks for still being my big brother.”

Porthos’ voice was soft as he answered her. “Always kid. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this worked for you all! Aramis next, and he might not be quite as easy...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got quite long, sorry!
> 
> Thanks for your continued support! Means a lot.
> 
> Banana xx

Their business took them most of the day, and the sun was journeying back down towards the horizon when they arrived back in Paris. D’Artagnan was starting to wonder how she was going to manage to get some time alone with Aramis and Athos before the end of the day. 

The yard was buzzing with chatting musketeers when they arrived back, with Athos and Aramis nowhere to be seen. Porthos handed his reins to d’Artagnan, leaving her to take the horses to the stable and went to ask one of the groups of conversing men where he could find their friends. 

Voices noticeably quietened to whispers as d’Artagnan went past. A frown cut a divide between her eyes as she approached a pair of eager stable boys, handing over the horses with barely a glance as she tried to work out what was going on around her, and why she had the unmistakable feeling that she wasn’t going to like it. 

Exiting the stables, she spotted Porthos standing at the bottom of the stairs, talking to Aramis who had obviously just come down them. The constant buzz in the yard had dulled, and the musketeers had scattered a little, vaguely doing some duties and looking busy, all avoiding the glares that d’Artagnan could see Aramis shooting at them throughout his conversation with Porthos. Now more than a little concerned, she approached the pair of them.

“I’ve never seen him like that Porthos,” Aramis was saying, his voice aching with concern. “And we’ve seen him in some pretty bad ways.”

“Shit. Did he explain anything?”

Aramis just shook his head.

“What happened?” She couldn’t help herself. Something had happened with Athos, and she needed to know what it was.

Aramis laughed gently. “Which part?”

She shot a confused look at Porthos, who took pity on her and answered with the words Aramis had seemingly just said to him. “The cardinal was poisoned during the trial, but not before Athos reacted badly to one of the witnesses, shouting in the court that she was a liar and an imposter, or something. It didn’t go well lad.”

She almost smiled as he used the familiar term for her, before she caught on to what Porthos had actually said. “She?”

Aramis shrugged. “Some woman, can’t remember the name she gave, but she stood up and said that Ninon was guilty, which seemed to shock the Madame somewhat. And Athos.”

“And he said nothing about who this woman was, to you or the captain?”

Aramis shook his head. “He wouldn’t say anything. If I hadn’t seen his face for myself I would’ve thought he was just protesting to someone saying that the accusations were true.” So that explained the air of rumour in the yard, and the suppressed voices as d’Artagnan passed. She had a reputation for being a bit of a hot head, especially when her friends were called into question. Aramis continued. “We had to haul him away, he was shocked I think. He almost looked distraught to be honest, but I cannot even give you the hint of a reason why.”

D’Artagnan had a horrible feeling that she knew why. “Where is he?”

“With Madame de Larroque.”

“Oh.” There it was; that little sliver of pain that signified a heart about to break. 

“I think I’ve missed something in here Aramis. You said she was sentenced to death.”

Aramis grinned. “Ah yes, but that was before we saved the Cardinal and found his softer side.”

“He let her go?” Porthos sounded incredulous, but d’Artagnan didn’t have the energy for it. Ninon was free, and Athos was with her.

“After we found the poisoner, yes. And with a few conditions, one being that she leaves Paris and never returns. Athos is seeing her off.” Aramis gave his favourite lewd grin. “That should distract him from whatever upset him, for a while at least.”

D’Artagnan laughed weakly along with Porthos’ warm chuckle. As relieved as she may be that Ninon was leaving, she wasn’t entirely happy that he felt the need to go and say goodbye to her. She couldn’t cope with him mooning over her after she left. Plus she was still worried about this mysterious woman, and this strange effect she’d had on him.

“Never mind d’Art,” Aramis threw his arm round her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Next time you’ll get the girl, next time. Whatever would Madame Bonacieux say anyway?”

She reached up and pushed his hand off, rolling her eyes at him. “Maybe I’m just annoyed that we missed the whole thing while at the palace.” Her hands wanted to go to her hips, as they always did when she was indignant about something, but as usual she forced her arms into the more manly stance of being crossed over her chest, her chin lifted in defiance as she glared at Aramis. 

She didn’t miss the look of approval that Porthos gave her.

“Whatever you say lad, whatever you say. Well, it’s been a long day, drinks anyone?”

“You two go ahead. I need to speak to the captain. I’ll catch up.” Porthos practically pushed the two of them towards the gate.

“We can wait.” D’Artagnan stopped, a sudden wave of fear crashing over her as she recognised an attempt from Porthos to give her time to speak to Aramis.

“Come on lad, once Porthos gets talking there’s no stopping him; we’d be as well going on ahead.” Aramis put his arm across her shoulders again and started leading her out into the street. She went quietly, assuming that Aramis must be fairly desperate for a drink if he was describing Porthos as ‘chatty’ to get her going.

She looked over her shoulder to where Porthos was watching them leave, giving him a look of panic. He gave her an encouraging smile and nod, before calling to them that he wouldn’t be long. An extra reassurance for her that he wasn’t going to leave her to the mercy of Aramis for too long.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Half an hour later, d’Artagnan sat staring in panic at Aramis as he stared back at her in silence. Their wine sat in front of them, her cup empty and his untouched. She had drained hers instantly when it was set before her and launched straight into her story, a moment seized before her courage disappeared.

She was struggling to read Aramis. He was usually so open, never guarded in his thoughts or his feelings, but she was getting nothing from him. This couldn’t be good.

“Please, say something. Say anything!” 

When he spoke his voice was quiet, and angry. “How long have you been here? Six months?”

She nodded, a sense of misery settling on her as she watched his still blank face. She was surprised at the tone of his voice, but soon began to suspect that his main feeling was one of hurt.

“That’s a long time to tell a lie, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, but it confirmed her suspicions. 

“It is, I know that. I’m truly sorry Aramis, honestly. I had to.” 

“No you didn’t, you chose to.”

The hint of accusation in his tone was enough to replace her misery with the beginnings of anger. That famous Gascon temper. Great.

“You know you would never have taken me seriously as myself, never.”

“Not to fight with, no, but we would still have listened to you d’Artagnan!” His face showed emotion for the first time as he looked a little insulted

“I know that. You are good people, you are. I would trust any of you with my life, and I have done on many occasions. All I am asking is that you trust me, you trust that this was the only way I thought I had to get to Athos, and then to stay. What else would you have had me do? I had nothing, nowhere to go. When you asked me to stay, I decided then that I needed to keep up the pretense.”

“If we had known-”

“But you didn’t, did you? You didn’t know because I am good! I am a good fighter, I ride as well as any of you, and I play my part well. Hell, if anyone in the world was going to know I was a woman it should’ve been you! In fact, I’m a little bit insulted that you didn’t notice!” She folded her arms firmly, glaring at him across the table. 

Her eyes narrowed further when he burst out laughing at her outburst. “You definitely weren’t pretending to have that temper, anyway.”

She blushed, but remained in her confrontational stance. “Porthos doesn’t have such a problem with it.”

“Porthos is different.” 

“How exactly? He’s a musketeer, he’s a man, he’s my friend, as I thought you were. If he can accept that I am a woman, then why can’t you?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” He practically hissed at her.

“But I can-”

“I know what you can do d’Artagnan, I have seen it. I mean what happens if you get found out?”

“I don’t know! Why should it suddenly happen though? Like you said, I’ve been lying for six months. Unless you think you’re not up to lying with me?”

She blushed fiercely when he raised an eyebrow at her words. “Shut up!” She snapped.

He looked at her curiously for a few moments, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “It’s not going to be easy. For any of us.”

“I know that. And I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “You could have told us sooner, rather than wait for this Labarge character to make himself known.”

“I didn’t know anything about him. I would’ve kept lying for as long as I could have gotten away with it, and I would have hated myself for it every day.” She smiled weakly at him. “Besides, who would want to deal with this lovely conversation before they had to?”

“I’m not trying to make it difficult for you, you know. It’s just, complicated.” He held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“I’m still me.” She was determined he would understand that.

“You’re still stubborn, and hot tempered, and still good with a sword, yes.”

“Then, just treat me as me. Porthos has managed all day.”

“Like I said, it’s different for him.” Aramis shrugged and drank his wine in one long gulp, before reaching for the bottle to fill both cups.

“I don’t understand.”

“Life was different for Porthos for a long time. In the Court of Miracles, well, it’s not unusual for women to fight like you do, to be treated the same as the men.”

“They don’t fight quite like I do.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “No, obviously none of them can match the great d’Artagnan with a sword. Happy?”

She nodded stubbornly, smiling at him a little. He just shook his head and chuckled.

“I’m just saying that it’s going to be difficult to forget that you’re a woman. It’s my natural instinct to treat women differently, to protect them.” He winked at her when she snorted. “Okay, so it’s not my only instinct. Just... be patient alright? You need to keep that temper of yours in check.”

She grinned at him, that full, sunny grin that was pure d’Artagnan. “You mean I’m forgiven?”

“Let’s just say, it’s just as well that I care about you the way that I do. But don’t lie to me again, alright?”

She nodded. Aramis had a real thing about honesty, but thankfully he also had a real thing about forgiving. He lifted his wine and held it out to her, encouraging her to raise her own. He tapped their cups together before smiling at her and taking a drink. She followed suit.

“So, I take it you haven’t told Athos yet?”

“No.” 

“Well, good luck with that one.” He gestured another toast to her.

“Thanks.” 

They drank in companionable silence for a few moments, although she could see the wheels still turning frantically in Aramis’ head.

“Wait a second, does this mean that Madame Bonacieux is just a lonely, bored housewife? Good to know.” He winked at her again and she shook her head at him firmly.

“Not a chance Aramis. She knows you too well.”

“You never know, d’Art, you never know.”

She opened her mouth to warn him off her friend, but was interrupted by Porthos’ slightly frantic arrival at their table.

“Come on, we need to go.” He was out of breath and looked disturbed. The other two both stood, quickly checking their weapons and placing hats firmly on their heads.

“What’s happened?” Aramis was clearly concerned by the look on Porthos’ face. “Is it Athos?”

Charline felt her stomach swoop in panic.

“No, he’s not back yet. We need to go to the barracks, now.” He walked away from the table, leading both of them outside into the rapidly fading sunlight.

“What’s happened?” Excitement was starting to build a little within her. If Athos was okay, then this could be their next adventure they were being called to. She lived for this.

Porthos quickly doused the feeling with a cold shower as he glanced at her. “A note arrived to Treville when I was about to leave. It’s Lebarge. He’s been arrested, and he’s on his way to Paris.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Charline’s ears were buzzing as she stood in front of Treville’s desk with the others. She couldn’t concentrate on the loud discussion that was going on around her. Her brain had switched into automatic mode as soon as Porthos had uttered the name Labarge, and she couldn’t even remember the journey back to the barracks. 

This was all happening way too fast. She needed time, they all needed time, to get used to the way things were going to be. She was under no illusion that nothing was going to be different, but she had been praying that there would be time for them to find their new version of normal before the threat of Labarge reared its ugly head. 

Apparently not. Perhaps this was her punishment for lying to her friends, to her family.

“Are you alright, uh, Charline?” Aramis’ question cut right through her dulled brain. Like lightning, her gaze turned to Aramis, causing him to actually step back with his hands held up in defence at the acidic glare she levelled at him. “Sorry, sorry.”

“We just had a conversation about this.” The words were spat out between gritted teeth.

“I know, sorry. I told you it was going to take some time though.

“D’Artagnan. The same as before.” 

“Aramis, stop it!” Porthos put his arm across the other musketeer’s chest and pushed him back gently.

“It worked though, didn’t it?” Aramis huffed.

She looked at Porthos, confused. “You weren’t listening to us, so obviously Aramis thought annoying you would be the best way to bring you back.

Aramis muttered behind him. “She said to treat her like before. I always annoy her to get her attention.”

She had to agree. “Sorry.”

“Are you done?”

The three of them turned sheepishly to face the captain, speaking as one. “Sir.”

He sighed. Having children had never been as difficult as dealing with this lot. “Right. So tomorrow we need to bring Labarge into the city, and I think the safest thing to do is send you two and Athos.”

“What about me sir?”

The two musketeers at her side spluttered their denials.

“I thought the plan was to keep going as we were? Won’t the men find it odd if I suddenly don’t go with you?” She was frustrated already. The first sign of trouble and they were trying to protect her, treating her differently than they would have before.

“D’Artagnan,” the captain spoke up. The voice of reason as always. “This is about keeping you away from Labarge until we know if he is aware of your existence or not, nothing else.”

“For you maybe.” Aramis muttered quietly, obviously still having trouble with the thought of sending a young woman into danger.

She rounded on him immediately, letting her frustration at the whole situation manifest itself in an argument with him. “I told you earlier, I am still the same person! You cannot suddenly now act like I am in any more danger than before!”

“And I told you it would take time, and that you are in more danger!” He was shouting back at her. “If anyone finds out that you are a woman, d’Artagnan, there is going to be hell to pay!”

In the silence after their brief shouting match, in which both stood breathing heavily and glaring at each other, there was a slow creak as the door to the office was pushed open from outside. In horror, all four of them turned and stared as it gradually opened to reveal the figure standing in the doorway.

She wasn’t sure if anyone else felt a sense of relief at seeing the man standing there was friend, not foe, but she most certainly did not. She barely registered Aramis’ whispered ‘sorry’ beside her as she took in the stance Athos had taken in the doorway. His body was held tensely, rigid from head to toe, and while his voice was calm, she could see the cold fury that was radiating from his eyes as he stared at her.

“I think someone better explain this to me. Now please.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Athos! Here goes...

She only lasted a matter of seconds under that glare before she ducked her head away from it. No one spoke for several moments, everyone seemingly unsure of the best way to proceed. Eventually, the captain took his place as the man in charge and told Athos to step inside and close the door. Charline heard him step in, and winced as the door was closed with some force.

“Again, I suggest that somebody tells me quickly what is going on here.” 

Porthos and Aramis both began to speak at once, but d’Artagnan stepped out and turned to them, pushing her head up high and taking a deep breath. “I need to do this. The same as I did for you.”

They both nodded but looked unsure of what to do next. Treville took over and ushered them out of his office, following them as they left. Again the door was closed, this time with more care and leaving just the two of them inside the room. She finally looked back at him. His face was still glaring his anger, and the affection that she could always see in his eyes, even when he was mad at her for being careless or reckless, was nowhere to be seen. The sliver in her heart grew a little more.

“I was going to tell you, Athos, today.”

“Tell me what exactly?” His voice remained steady, but he walked further into the room and threw his hat onto the captain’s desk, before turning back and leaning on it while he stared at her, and folding his arms.

He’s creating a barrier, she thought. Suddenly, she felt tiny standing in the middle of the room alone, while he stared at her from his authoritative stance. She was glad now of her height, tall for a woman, but always shorter than her musketeers. She pulled back her shoulders and braced herself, chin jutting proudly. If she was going to face him, she was going to do it bravely.

“That I am not Charles d’Artagnan. I have been lying to you all since the day I arrived, but the time has come to tell you the truth. I’m sorry for lying to you, but I felt at the time I needed to. I never planned for this, but the longer I stayed the harder it got, until I didn’t want to go anywhere and it became almost impossible.” She was proud of how calm her voice stayed, but inside she was begging him to stop looking at her so coldly.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” Polite and impassive. He shifted slightly against the desk; the tiniest hint of his discomfort.

“I am Charline d’Artagnan, youngest daughter of Alexandre d’Artagnan.”

She waited for several seconds for him to react, maintaining her proud stance. She refused to crumble in front of him. She’d save that for later when she was alone. 

“Please Athos.”

“Please what? Please forget the fact that you’ve lied to us all for so long, forget that you’ve put us all in danger with this ridiculous ruse,” his voice was starting to get louder. She was almost relieved that he was finally showing some emotion. “Forget that I trusted you?”

“You can still trust me,” she whispered.

“No I can’t!” He yelled at her fully now, and she couldn’t stop herself from flinching.

“There was a reason for it Athos, for all of it-”

“I don’t care what you think the reason was _Mademoiselle_ ,” he almost spat the word at her. “We took you in, made you one of us d’Artagnan. You’ve been fighting with the King’s musketeers, and the whole thing has been a lie?”

“I am sorry Athos!” she couldn’t stop herself from yelling back at him in frustration. “But I am still the person you know, I am no less a fighter than I was before you knew this. I am still your friend!”

“No.” 

The single word, spoken quietly but firmly, stopped her.

“No what?”

“No, you’re not my friend,” he shook his head sadly at her. “You were one of the few people in this world I let myself trust d’Artagnan, and I need to be able to do that with my friends. If I can’t have faith in you, then you’re not my friend.”

She looked at him aghast. She knew he wasn’t going to take this well, but she had stupidly allowed herself to hope after her conversations with Porthos and Aramis that it might be alright.

She took a step towards him, eyes pleading with him. “Please Athos, please don’t shut me out. You’re my family, all of you. I need you all.”

He grabbed her arms as she reached him, holding her back as far away from him as he could. 

“You know things about me d’Artagnan, things I’ve never told anyone. I placed more faith in you even than Porthos and Aramis, and I never thought I would do that with anyone.”

“I haven’t said anything Athos, I never will. I’d never break your trust, never.” She desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, offer him some comfort for the emotions she could see battling for supremacy in his eyes.

He let go of her, pushing her away from him. “You already have. And I can’t forgive that. Not now.”

Her heart finally cracked as she looked at him and realised that he now included her in the list of people who had betrayed him. A short but important list that included his wife, his mother and his father. Suddenly, she felt herself getting angry.

“Do you know something Athos; you’ve broken my trust too.” He raised one eyebrow at her questioningly as she continued. “I trusted that you were the man I saw in you, one who would do anything for his friends, anything to protect them. Including me. You don’t even care enough to listen to why I lied, why I continued to, or even why Captain Treville told me I had to tell you all today. I thought you were a good man, a man of integrity and honour.”

His anger was obviously rising again as she called his character into question. He was still the man she had thought him to be, she knew that, but she was desperately hurt, and lashing out was the only way she knew of dealing with it.

“You’ve looked after me for six months Athos. Trained me, taken me under your wing, complained when I was put in any danger you thought unnecessary. How can you do that for so long, then abandon me when I need you most?”

He took a step towards her, closing in on her a bit but maintaining a safe distance.

“I think you’ve said enough, don’t you?” His voice was deathly quiet.

Her anger quivered, then melted away as she realised that she had actually wounded him. She couldn’t fathom what was going on in his head, or in his reaction, but she knew that she had taken it too far. She had probably just destroyed any chance she had of regaining any kind of relationship with him.

Before the tears had a chance to fill her eyes completely, she nodded once and turned and left the room. After closing the door behind her, she quickly wiped at her eyes so that the others wouldn’t see she had been upset. She walked round the corner, and nearly ran into someone.

“Oh! Oh, sorry sir,” she hastily apologised to Captain Treville.

“Are you alright?” Now she heard the hint of fatherly concern that she realised had always been in his voice when he spoke to her.

“Yes, I’m fine, but I- oh,” she bit her lip. “He didn’t let me explain, but I may have mentioned that you knew about it.” She looked at him apologetically.

“I’ll speak to him, don’t worry.”

She nodded at him, smiling weakly in an effort to convince him she believed he could make it better. He clasped her shoulder briefly before walking past her and round into his office. The door closed behind him and she could immediately hear a voice raised in anger. She decided to move in case she heard something that made her feel worse.

The yard was gratifyingly empty, save for the two musketeers who sat waiting in the dark at their usual table in sight of the gate. Everyone on duty must be on night patrol, or inside the mess waiting for orders. When she got to the top of the stairs she felt her resolve begin to waver a bit, but she swallowed the lump that appeared in her throat and walked down towards their concerned faces. She resisted every instinct in her that was telling her to run at them and bury herself in a comforting embrace. She was used to having to resist these feelings, but it hadn’t been so hard in a long time.

Neither of them said anything as she reached the table, slid into her usual seat, and threw her arms and head onto the table with a groan.

“It went well then?”

She turned her head enough to open one eye and glare at Aramis, but she couldn’t help but feel grateful for his warm support, however inappropriately he tried to give it.

She turned her head back down to the table and spoke into it. “It couldn’t have gone worse.”

“Well, you say that, but neither of you are dead are you? So that’s something.”

She sat up and rolled her eyes at Aramis, who appeared to be getting the same treatment from Porthos.

“He hates me, he actually hates me.” She dropped her chin into her hands and looked across the table despondently at her friends. The two she had left.

“I doubt that’s true d’Artagnan, not really.” Porthos’ voice was firm.

“He said I’d broken his trust, and he couldn’t call anyone who did that a friend.”

“Ah.”

She looked in panic at Porthos. “What do you mean ‘ah’?”

Porthos exchanged a glance with Aramis. “Trust is, well, it’s a big thing for him. If he brought that up, then it’s probably pretty bad.”

She huffed. “Great, thanks.”

“It means he’s hurt d’Artagnan, more than he is angry I imagine. Remember he doesn’t deal with his emotions well, or at all, so he will often appear angry when he is fighting something else.”

This time it was her who said it. “Ah.”

Anger she could probably have dealt with. She could’ve worked with that, found small ways to make it up to him, to show him that she was still the same friend, the same person he had chosen to confide his horrible past in. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn’t want to hurt any of them really, but the thought that she had caused pain to Athos, who had never had a woman in his life that hadn’t done so, thoroughly drowned her in a feeling of wretched guilt.

“I’m sure he’ll come round d’Art, it’s just going to take some time.” Aramis spoke soothingly to her, reaching across the table briefly to squeeze her hand.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and all three turned and looked across the yard to where Athos was walking down them. No one spoke as he approached, almost marching towards them, his body still rigid with tension.

“D’Artagnan, go home. Report here as usual tomorrow. You two, we need to get organised for tomorrow.”

“But I-”

“Go home d’Artagnan.” His voice was utterly cold as he spoke to her, but if she hadn’t looked squarely back at him she would have missed the sadness betrayed in his eyes.

“Will you-”

“I will do my duty by you, as instructed by my captain. We will deal with Labarge, as necessary.” He turned and walked away from her, back up the stairs to Treville’s office.

Aramis whistled softly. “What was that you said about taking some time Porthos? We’re going to have to talk about this some more.” He stood, then hesitated. “Do you want us to see you home?”

“Would you have seen me home yesterday?”

He smiled at her. “Go home kid. We’ll see you tomorrow.” He reached across to squeeze her hand once again, and then bounded up the stairs after Athos.

This time she couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in her eyes as she stood up from the table. She gave Porthos a watery smile, and slowly walked towards the gates. She stopped when he called after her, but didn’t turn.

After a moment he spoke from behind her. “It’ll be ok, you’ll see. I’ll talk to him.” An arm reached round across the front of her shoulders and he gave her a quick squeeze from behind, and she was sure she felt him press a quick kiss onto the crown of her head. She closed her eyes briefly until he let her go, then continued on her way out into the streets of Paris.

She held onto her tears until she reached home. She walked in, sneaking quietly up the stairs in the darkened house, and went into her room. Then she did the girliest thing she had done in six months, and threw herself onto her bed and sobbed into her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad angsty! Sorry about that! ;)
> 
> Next chapter will be up quickly, so it will be getting dealt with soon, don't worry! 
> 
> Thanks to you all once again for you support, particularly those of you who have taken the time to write such encouraging comments. I like that I can take the time to reply to you all. It's much appreciated!
> 
> Banana xx


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning she was at the barracks early. It was an attempt to avoid questions from Constance, who she was sure would have been waiting up for her if she had arrived home earlier the night before. It was also an attempt to see Athos before they left to take Labarge off the hands of the soldiers bringing him towards Paris. She had to show him that she was going nowhere, that she was determined to make things right.

Aramis was the first of them to arrive, and he immediately sat with her at their table, taking some of the food she had gathered for the four of them from the mess. 

“You alright?” He asked the question casually as he threw a bit of bread into his mouth.

“Fine.” She shrugged at him. “Although I’m not particularly happy I’ve got to sit here while you get to go and have all the fun.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You do realise that this man could be a huge danger to you?”

“He’ll be under the guard of the musketeers, what could happen?” She shrugged back.

“We don’t know how many men he has out there,” she jumped as Porthos suddenly appeared and spoke behind her. “We need to assess the situation properly.” He sat down and helped himself to the meal.

“I know that,” she sighed. “I just hate missing out, that’s all.”

Aramis grinned at her. “You were never going to be a lady, were you?”

She let out a bark of laughter. “No, I wasn’t. It was just me and my father anyway, from when I was quite young. There was nobody to teach me how. I always preferred the sword to a needle.”

“Still, is there not bits of life as a girl you miss?” Porthos squirmed a little awkwardly as he asked the question, not quite sure how to put it.

She shrugged. “I didn’t really have much to miss. I didn’t have many friends, other than the brothers on the next farm, and I fought with them more than anything else.” She chewed her bread thoughtfully. “I suppose I miss a couple of things. My hair, for one.”

Suddenly, she realised that they had successfully moved her away from the topic of Labarge. And they were completely avoiding the topic of Athos.

“How were, um, things, after I went home?” She asked tentatively.

She never got an answer. Instead Porthos looked up and nodded towards the gates. “Here comes the morning sunshine, see for yourself.”

Athos was walking purposefully towards them, his expression serious, but not glaring icicles at her like the night before.

“Are you both ready?” Aramis and Porthos both stood, nodding and squaring their hats onto their heads. “Then we should go. Will you bring the horses please?” 

D’Artagnan stared after them in a mild panic as they walked away, leaving her with an early morning Athos. Not always the best version of him.

“We will be back by early afternoon, and we will talk then.” 

She gaped at him stupidly for a moment. His voice was almost soft when he spoke to her, little trace of the coldness that had reduced her to sobs. He wasn’t smiling at her, but there was something in his facial expression, something tiny but there, that gave her a little bit of hope that she hadn’t lost him altogether.

“But you, I-, oh.” She was completely flustered, and apparently incapable of putting together a proper sentence. She nearly fell at his feet in a puddle when her attempt to speak brought a crooked smile to his face for a moment. She loved that smile.

“Yesterday was not a good day. I apologise for being so harsh with you, but there are still things we need to discuss, and things that I need to think some more about. I am still angry, but I will not abandon you d’Artagnan. I promise you that.”

She nodded dumbly at him as he moved away from the table, towards a mounted Porthos and Aramis who had just led his own horse into the yard with them.

She couldn’t stop herself calling out after him, softly enough that no one else would hear. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I would never do that intentionally, never.”

He turned at her words, and she was worried for a second that she had angered him by showing she had seen a vulnerability in him. But he just looked at her for a moment, then nodded an acknowledgement of her apology before moving on and joining the others. She stood a moment later as they rode past her, grinning at the wink Porthos sent her as he passed by. 

Things could, maybe, be okay.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Captain Treville didn’t send her out without another patrol for the morning, but he kept her busy with menial jobs that filled her time and kept her mind occupied. It was only at sporadic points that she had time to think about what they might be doing, or wonder if they were alright, or wonder what Labarge was like. 

By the end of the morning she was getting agitated. She hated this. She hated not knowing where they were, or when they would be back, or whether they were facing some danger that none of them had foreseen. Essentially, they were a man down as she would normally have been with them, and she couldn’t help but blame herself a little for that, ridiculous as it may be as she would be there had she been allowed to be.

She was only half surprised when Constance appeared in the yard at lunch time. She was sitting, picking at her food, by herself when a shadow fell across her and she looked up to see her friend standing there, hands on hips.

“You avoided me this morning.”

“Sorry, I had to leave early to get here before, well before they left.”

“Before who left? What’s going on?” Constance sat across from her, taking Aramis’ usual seat.

She quietly explained that Labarge was on his way to a cell in Paris, and that the others had gone to collect him. Constance nodded firmly when she complained that she hadn’t been allowed to go with them, but looked sympathetic when she described her anxiety at not knowing what was going on.

“When do you expect them back?”

“Soon, I suppose.”

“Not too long to cope then. And how did it all go?” She raised one eyebrow at d’Artagnan.

“As expected, I suppose. Porthos was great, really great. He just took it all in his stride, as he does, you know?” Constance nodded. “And Aramis, well he was a bit more reluctant to accept it, but I talked him round I suppose. He’s been great too, honestly.” She smiled.

“And Athos?”

Her smile faded a bit. “Well, it was difficult. He, well he was really quite angry. I don’t think I’ve seen him angry like that before, but Porthos said it was because I had hurt him. I felt awful Constance. He has, well, issues with trusting people because of various things, things that he told me about in confidence. He said that I had broken his trust, so I couldn’t be his friend.” Her voice wobbled as she reached the end of his speech.

“He what? How dare he-”

“No Constance, he was right to feel the way he does. I can’t explain it without breaking his confidence, but I can understand it. Anyway, he was calmer this morning and said we would talk when they get back.”

“Ah I see, this is the reason for the agitation.” Constance smiled at her.

“No! Well, maybe a bit I suppose.” She grinned back. It was good to have someone who knew the whole story, including her unrequited feelings for her musketeer.

“And the reason you snuck out early, to make sure you saw him?”

She nodded.

Constance looked at her carefully then sighed. “Be careful d’Artagnan. Please don’t let your heart get broken.”

Charline smiled back sadly. “I think it’s inevitable. I’ll settle for being his friend again at the moment.”

“Just be careful, ok?” 

“I’ll try.”

“I better go,” Constance smiled at her and stood. “I’m supposed to be fetching meat from the market for dinner. Bonacieux’s at home waiting. I just wanted to check you were alright. I’ll see you later.” She stood and walked away, leaving d’Artagnan to continue picking at her meal for as long as she could bear it.

It was while she was sparring with a couple of other musketeers, who had graciously let her join them, that they arrived back.

They rode into the barracks, each of them looking absolutely furious. She stood, sword loosely in her hand as she gaped at them. The three of them dismounted, throwing the reins to a stable boy who had run out on hearing the hooves entering the yard, and headed straight for the stairs to Treville’s office. At the last minute Aramis paused, obviously looking for her, and she stepped into his eyeline. He gestured with his head that she should follow them. She gave her sword to a fellow gaping musketeer and hurried up the stairs after them.

Athos was already in full flow when she entered the room and closed the door.

“They had no right! None!” He was walking back and forth in front of Treville’s desk. The captain was still in his chair, but with a look of fury on his face that matched the ones on Porthos and Aramis’ beside her.

“What happened?”

“Red Guards.” Porthos practically spat the words.

Athos stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “They took Labarge.”

“But why?”

“We have no idea. It can’t be good though.” She couldn’t read him at all as he continued to look at her, but she herself was feeling the beginning of something akin to fear.  
Athos turned back to the captain. “I don’t trust this.”

“I’m not happy either Athos, but I doubt that the Cardinal is either, considering his captain is dead,” he raised an eyebrow at the three musketeers in the room, but not of them changed their facial expression a single iota. He sighed. “I must go and see the king, before the cardinal gets to him and has you up on some trumped up charge. What about d’Artagnan?”

Porthos spoke up. “He was saying nothing. We tried to discover why he was coming to Paris, but he gave nothing away. He didn’t react at all until those fools insisted on taking him and he attacked.”

“Do you think he is alone?”

“A man like that? I very much doubt it. He’s an out and out thug Captain, not a discernable positive attribute to be found.”

With a final sigh, the captain swept from the room. The others began talking instantly, while d’Artagnan quietly moved herself to the side of the room and slid to the floor, sitting against the wall.

“We need to find out why he’s here.” Aramis was firm, and was immediately agreed with by the others. “He’s up to something, there’s no way a man like that would be heading to Paris, knowing he is wanted, without a reason.”

“We’ll have to rely on the captain to get him back into our custody.” Athos’ faith in Treville was unshakable.

“And how is he going to do that, when he can’t tell anyone what is really going on?”

Athos paused for a moment. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“D’Artagnan?” Porthos was suddenly hunched down in front of her. “Alright?”

She nodded. “I just don’t have a great feeling about this, that’s all.” An understatement if ever there was one. She felt awful, like something terrible was just around the corner, and she just couldn’t quite see it.

“Me neither.” He smiled at her and she couldn’t help smile back.

“We can do nothing until the captain returns. We may as well go and eat. He stood, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet.

“We’ll join you shortly.” Athos dismissed Aramis and Porthos. Obviously the time for their conversation had arrived.

She waited for him to begin as he began pacing again, his features drawn in confusion as he thought of how to begin. Eventually he stopped, and looked at her, eyes searching her face.

“Do you trust me d’Artagnan?”

“Absolutely.” She didn’t hesitate.

“But not with the truth of you are.”

She winced. “I wanted to, so many times, but I just couldn’t.” She paused, but he said nothing. This time he was obviously going to let her explain. 

“When I first arrived, obviously I was looking for you, thinking that you had murdered my father. I meant to challenge you, to kill you if I could, and to do that I needed to maintain the disguise my father had put me in. I had no other clothing with me anyway, as you know.”

He nodded, leaning against the desk as he had done the night before. She looked at him and wished suddenly that he didn’t look quite so damn good doing it.

“Well, then when everything got cleared up I realised that I had nowhere to go, no other options. When I was allowed to stay, I knew that I wanted to. I also knew that I couldn’t if anyone knew the truth. I had fooled you all easily to begin with, so where was the harm in continuing with my lie while I worked out what to do? I got too comfortable I suppose. I was happy! There were no expectations on _Charles_ , I could fight how I wanted to, I had friends, I was protected. Without the musketeers I had none of that.”

“Were you ever planning to tell the truth, to your friends?” He was still looking at her sternly, but he was _listening_.

“How long could I keep it going?” She shrugged. “There was only so long you would believe I was young d’Artagnan. When I reached my mid twenties would you not find it odd I still could not grow any facial hair? The age my father gave me was a good option, but it couldn’t last forever.”

“Gave you?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I’m older than I told you. Just another lie you can add to the list.” She smiled weakly at him. “I think when the time came, when I realised that I couldn’t get away with it any longer, I would just have left.”

“You would have said nothing?”

“Look at how you reacted Athos! It wasn’t easy with the others either. How could I choose to face that? It would break me to leave, but to leave with your hatred? I couldn’t do it. Cowardly, I know.”

“And you think it wouldn’t have broken us? For you just to leave without a word?”

Her heart leapt at the insinuation that he cared, but she pushed it back down. She could not read more than was there into anything he said. That way heralded the path to ruin. Instead she looked at the floor and said sullenly: “I would’ve left a note.”

His chuckle surprised her. “Of course you would.”

They were silent for a few moments as he thought about what she had said. 

“What now?” She needed to know.

He contemplated her again. She didn’t think he’d spent as much time looking at her in the whole of the six months she had known him as he had in the last day.

“It’s still the same difficulty. Labarge is a problem that must be taken care of, one way or another. After that, well as you say it is only so long you will be able to get away with your lie.”

She wanted to flinch from the reminder of ‘her lie’, but instead she crossed her arms defiantly. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t continue as I have been until that time comes?”  
He shook his head at her, exasperated with her usual stubbornness. “We shall speak to the captain after this is over, and make a decision about what is to be done.”

To her surprise he took a few steps towards her. “I wonder that I never noticed that you were a woman d’Artagnan. When I look at you with knowledge, it is perfectly clear.”

Her heart was suddenly pounding. “I’ve been told I’m very good at playing my part.”

“That you are.” He shook himself out of his reverie, his voice suddenly stern again. “And you must continue to be. There is more than just your life at stake.”

His face softened again when she bit her lip, but quickly hardened as he put up his barriers once again.

“I don’t mean to sound like I don’t care. But this is difficult, very difficult, to deal with. It will take time for me to trust you, if I can at all.”

She took a deep breath. “I know you’d rather I didn’t mention any of it, but I need you to know that my lie does not make me like them. I need you to try and understand the reasons for it. I, more than most, know why you are finding this so difficult, why it hurts so much that I betrayed the trust you offered me. But when you told me of your past, and with what happened in the house, it just made it harder to tell you that I had lied.” 

He didn’t say anything.

“I just mean that I understand your reaction, I suppose.”

He smiled wryly. “Well that’s something.”

“I accept that things will be different Athos, I do. I just don’t see what I can do, other than continue as I was.” She took a step forward this time, almost standing toe to toe with him now. “I earned your trust before, didn’t I?”

“No,” he answered her quietly. “I just trusted you instinctively, for some reason. I couldn’t understand it, and now I understand it even less.”

“You always say you should trust your instincts.”

“Yes, well trust isn’t exactly working in my favour at the moment is it?” He stepped away from her and moved to the door of the office, his voice once again abrupt as he left her. “We should go.”

She watched him walk out of the room and sighed, moving to Treville’s desk and leaning for a moment in the spot where he had been leaning. This was how it was going to be, she knew it. She may think she was getting through to him, but his anger would continue to flare up just when she thought she’d made a difference. He would leave when he was hurt, and continue to blame her for her lie, and associate her with all the other women in his life.

And she would continue to love him, and ache for the moment when he would truly see her, and take her in his arms. For the moment that she knew was never going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kinda sad again! I wanted to do more, but it's already a really long chapter, so I decided to leave it there. More coming soon, I promise.
> 
> Thanks once again for your continued encouragement!
> 
> Banana xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short delay in updates! Please forgive me....

She could feel Athos’ eyes on her as she ducked under Aramis’ sword for the umpteenth time, dancing away from Porthos as he jabbed at her from the other side. They had been sparring in the yard for some time now, although only with swords as they had all awkwardly refused her requests for hand to hand practice. 

Still, she as enjoying the dance – even if Athos was watching her performance with new eyes, assessing her as if he’d never seen her before. Well, she was showing him. She had never been so light on her feet before, weaving around her two opponents quickly and with the agility she had always been proud of. The fight had been going on forever, and still they had not bettered her.

She risked a glance at Athos, his eyes still trained on her, and a strange expression on his face. He was definitely assessing her, but was that a hint of admiration she could see?  
She paused a moment too long. The next thing she knew her sword was gone as Porthos knocked it out of her hand, and she was flat on her back in the yard, Aramis grinning down at her with his own sword pointed at her throat. She glared back.

“Now now, you know better than to let yourself get distracted.” His grin didn’t fade as he held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. She glared at him in an attempt to cove her embarrassment. She hated losing, and she hated that Athos had seen it.

She got straight back into fighting stance. “Again?”

Porthos moved obligingly into position while Aramis moved away to get a drink. The game began again, fiercer than before with just the two of them. Porthos was grinning at her and she found herself grinning back. She relaxed slightly as Athos moved away to join Aramis.

Treville entered the yard ten minutes later, just as she finally got the upper hand and struck Porthos with the winning blow. She looked up in triumph, a happy grin spread over her face as she looked towards Athos and Aramis. It faded as she took the captain into her view, the expression on his face serious and instantly putting the worry from earlier back into her heart. 

When Treville didn’t head for his office, but instead moved to the table they usually occupied in the yard, d’Artagnan suddenly became aware of how empty the yard had become, and how much the light had faded. They must have been waiting for him for hours.

She was the last to arrive at the table, walking slowly towards the group to put off the inevitable. The captain was sitting in her seat so she prepared to stand at the end, but without thought Athos moved up the bench a little, leaving space for her on the end beside him. She sat carefully, trying not to touch him as she gingerly balanced on the edge of the bench. She realised what she was doing and quickly behaved herself when she noticed Porthos looking at her like she had gone insane, and made herself sit normally. She ignored the warmth of Athos’ leg pressed against hers, and focused on the rather more important matter of the discussion at hand.

“So the King took the cardinal’s side?” Aramis was asking.

“Not quite, but he seemed rather...excited...about the idea of a contest.” Treville leaned over his hands, which were clasped on the table in front of him, and shook his head.

“Sorry, what contest?” 

“A contest between the red guards and the musketeers.” Athos answered her quietly.

“For what?” 

“For Labarge.”

“Ah.”

Treville sighed deeply. “The cardinal was rather too interested in why we wanted him back, but I talked a lot about honour, and mentioned that he had done me some wrong in the past. He seemed satisfied, but we’ll have to be careful.”

“I’m sorry to be causing so much trouble.” She spoke quietly.

Everyone looked at her, and the captain leaned round Athos to speak to her. “My friendship with your father, and the affect this man had on his life, would be enough to make me want to bring this man to justice. Do not blame yourself for what is happening now.”

She nodded, averting her eyes from everyone. Porthos rescued her.

“So what happens with this contest?”

“A champion of the red guards and a champion of the musketeers. Swords and pistols. The winner gets custody of Labarge, and a reward from the King.” Treville looked exhausted.

A champion! This could be her chance, to feel finally like she belonged, to show Athos that she was still worthy of his time, and her place here. She quickly dampened down her flash of excitement. Did this make her the most selfish being on earth? To think of herself when she had brought this upon them, whatever Treville said. Hardly the mentality of an honourable musketeer.

“Well my friends, it seems it is time for me to finally put you in your place!” Aramis grinned around the table at them all, met with a raised eyebrow from Porthos that said without a doubt he had a fight on his hands. 

“The contest is not all, gentlemen.” Treville interrupted before a good-natured argument could unfold. “I requested some time to question Labarge, which was granted.”

Everyone was suddenly solemn and focused, listening intently as their captain told them of his meeting with the criminal.

“I was reluctant to speak with him, as obviously he knows me and links me with the name d’Artagnan, but I had to know why he was coming here, and what he knew,” the captain paused in a way that told Charline quite clearly that they were not going to like what he had to say. “He knew of your father’s death d’Artagnan, although he seemed disappointed that he had not been behind it. But he knew, somehow, that Alexandre had been killed while travelling with his son.” 

“And where does he think Monsieur d’Artagnan’s son is?” Athos spoke quietly.

“He didn’t say. I couldn’t ask directly. I did however get the impression that he knows exactly where young d’Artagnan is, or at the very least knew he was in Paris and was on his way to find him.”

D’Artagnan felt Athos’ entire body go tense at her side. “If he mentions the name d’Artagnan to anyone he will soon find out where to find her. She must be removed from here, she must leave.”

He didn’t seem to notice her echoing his tension at his words.

“We can protect her far better here where we can see her than if we send her out of our sight!” Porthos wasn’t happy with Athos’ suggestion either.

“If he doesn’t know where to find her then-”

“Well he knew to find her in Paris when there was no way he could know, didn’t he?” Aramis, it seemed, was on her side too.

The captain cleared his throat and stopped the argument dead.

“D’Artagnan?”

At last someone was allowing her to speak for herself. She took a moment to settle her anger, which has laced instantly through her, almost white-hot in its potency, when Athos had immediately suggested she should simply leave. So much for trying to move forward, and give her time to prove herself. The anger was the only thing keeping her from falling apart as she realised that he had leapt on the first opportunity to get her out of his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“D’Artagnan-”

“No Athos! I will not run and hide from this man, waiting for word that you have sorted out the problem for me. I already explained to you why I cannot leave here, why I have no wish to, and you would instantly have me pushed out at the first sign of trouble.” She stopped herself before she started babbling about being hurt or angry. Being emotional about it was not going to convince anyone she could cope with this latest development. She ignored Athos, who was staring at her slightly taken aback, and the smiles that Aramis and Porthos were trying to hide at the other side of the table. 

Instead she asked the captain the question that she truly wanted an answer to. “Will I be allowed to try out to be the musketeers’ champion?” She asked it proudly, and determined. Her tone showed that she knew she was good enough, and that she was asking despite knowing what the response would be.

“You are not a musketeer d’Artagnan.” The captain spoke firmly, but without patronising her.

She stood from the table, unable to stay much longer without exploding, one way or another. “As I expected. If I am permitted captain, I will leave and let you and your men get back to planning.”

She walked away from them slowly, without waiting for a response. She heard someone getting to their feet, then Porthos’ telling whoever it was to let her go. They were assuming that she was reacting to the news that Labarage was coming for her, but in truth she hadn’t even begun to think about that. That could be dealt with later.

First she had to deal with the knowledge that Athos was quite happy to have her out of his sight. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She wasn’t surprised when there was a knock at the door a couple of hours later, and even less surprised when she went to answer it and found Aramis and Porthos standing there grinning at her, no Athos in sight.

What took her by surprise was when they grabbed an arm each and dragged her out the house, Porthos calmly calling inside to Constance that they were ‘borrowing’ her for a few hours and not to worry. She found herself arm in arm with two musketeers, and being led firmly through the streets to their usual tavern. She didn’t even bother to ask any questions, or to protest.

Within minutes, she was sitting at a table in a darkened corner, hemmed in by both men, with a bottle of wine making its way over to them courtesy of the barmaid Aramis has called on and winked at when they arrived.

“I may have said yes, you know.” She arched one eyebrow at them as she took her first drink.

“More fun this way,” was Porthos’ dry response.

She sighed.

“Are you over your tantrum yet?” Aramis asked her calmly.

“What tantrum?! I did not have a tantrum.” The two of them were looking at her doubtfully. “Okay, so I might have had a _little_ one, but you, all of you were treating me like a, like a-”

“Like a girl?” Aramis looked at her pointedly. She glared back, then harder when he said. “You just proved it by acting like one and walking away in a temper.”

Porthos sighed. “Stop teasing her. Look, we told you it’s going to take some time. Whether you are Charles or Charline, we were never going to be happy to put you in that kind of danger, when we didn’t need to.”

“Athos wants me gone,” she said sadly.

“Athos is the most over-protective friend you will ever have, and you know it.” Porthos was being firm with her, and she knew deep down he was right. She was letting her own feelings for the musketeer cloud her thoughts in response to anything he said. She couldn’t keep doing it. “He doesn’t want you gone, he wants you safe.”

“He’s not dealing with this very well.”

“That’s not his fault.” Aramis spoke quietly.

“I know,” she sighed. “I wish he wouldn’t avoid me though.”

“Who’s avoiding you? He sent us to get you!” Porthos rolled his eyes at her.

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’. He’ll be here once he has taken care of a couple of things.”

She felt suddenly warmer than she had all day.

The three of them sat chatting amicably for a while, avoiding the topic of Labarge as far as possible. She felt a strange nervousness growing in her stomach as they waited for Athos to appear. She tried telling herself how stupid it was; this was a man she had lived and worked beside for half a year! Just because she suddenly realised the truth of her feelings for him she was scared to see him, to talk to him.

Enough.

She forced herself instead to listen to Aramis and Porthos bantering about which of them would be the musketeers’ champion, and let herself get jealous about that instead.  
“What do you think d’Artagnan, which one of us will it be?” 

She did not want to get drawn into this argument.

“You don’t think there’s a chance it will be neither of you?” she asked casually. They both stared at her, Aramis slightly aghast.

“Do you mean you think there is a better musketeer out there than two of your dearest friends? We, who have taught you so much? I am wounded d’Artagnan, wounded.” He ended his complaint with a dramatic clench of hands to his stomach.

She laughed at him, Porthos joining in. This is what life had been, what she wanted it to be again. 

“I’ve yet to see anyone beat Athos with a sword, why would you not assume that he would be the musketeers’ champion?” Nonchalance was key here, to avoid the others noticing the extent of her admiration for him.

“Pffft,” Aramis managed to scoff as if what she said was ridiculous. “He’ll never be the musketeer champion.”

She was surprised that Porthos was nodding in agreement. “Why ever not?”

“Because I would rather not become the centre of a spectacle for all of Paris to see.”

She jumped slightly when Athos’ voice spoke calmly beside her, and she realised he had appeared out of nowhere to stand at her shoulder, against the wall she was cornered into. She turned to look at him, and was rewarded with a slight smile as he spoke again.

“Of course, by standing aside is the only way that another musketeer would ever be considered as the champion of the regiment, and it is my duty to stand aside and show a good example of restraint, and humility.” 

During this speech he reached to the table next to them, picking up and empty stool and placing at their table, in a space next to d’Artagnan that was created as Porthos moved a little round the table.

The conversation sparked up immediately, and she began to relax as she enjoyed an evening with her friends like the ones she used to have. Now, however, she did not have to hide the fact that she was drinking a lot less than they were, which made everything much easier. She let them talk and laugh and annoy each other for some time, emptying a couple of bottles of wine, before she broached the subject of the champion again.

“I think I should compete to be the champion.” 

The laughter around and table stopped immediately as they all looked at her.

“You heard the captain, musketeers only,” said Athos.

“I am practically a musketeer! Just without a commission.” She looked him straight in the eye, stubborn as always. 

“There’s a couple of other things you’re missing as well,” added Aramis, causing her to blush as he chuckled at her. She silenced him with yet another glare.

“You must see that you cannot do this in the circumstances d’Art.” Porthos, as ever, the voice of reason.

She sighed, a little dramatically. “I suppose so. But what about before you knew the truth? Would you have ever expected me to let this go?” She raised an eyebrow at them all.

Athos laughed a little. “Not in the least.”

Her heart leapt as she realised she had found her opportunity. “Then don’t you think the rest of the men will find it odd that the headstrong, stubborn little d’Artagnan would just meekly accept that he _wasn’t allowed_?” She grinned at them in satisfaction.

“True, true.” Athos seemed to be mulling it over, while the others were nodding in agreement. Aramis was looking at her with something akin to pride on his face, realising she had learned some skills from him in negotiation.

“So, I can?” She forced her voice to stay calm.

Athos looked at her for a moment, then suddenly turned to Porthos. “What do you think?”

“I think sword.” He was looking at her seriously.

“Aramis?”

“I don’t know. Not pistols. Combat perhaps?”

“A possibility.” 

She was really, really confused. There was a little air of smugness around the three of them, that she was rather suspicious of.

Athos seemed to make a decision. “No, I think Porthos is right. Sword it is. One of you is going to have to do it, tomorrow I think.”

The other two musketeers groaned in unison.

“What exactly is going on here? Am I missing something? You haven’t answered my question!”

They ignored her again and a quick coin toss was completed beside her, which Aramis seemed very unhappy to lose. He complained momentarily, but was quickly silenced.

“Fine, fine. I’ll do it. But next time it’s someone else.” He folded his arms crossly.

“What is going on?!” She was practically yelling at them now.

As one, Aramis, Porthos and Athos all turned to look at her, innocent smiles gracing the faces of the latter two, while Aramis still pouted.

“You are absolutely right d’Artagnan. No one would expect that you would back down from this, certainly without a fight. So we will let you try out with everyone else tomorrow.” Porthos spoke soothingly to her.

She had to stop herself squealing in excitement. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Athos nodded seriously at her. “You will try out, and then Aramis here will have a little accident with his sword and you will have to withdraw.”

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to get involved, fine. But you cannot compete, at the risk of all our necks. A slight cut to your arm, which will look a lot worse than it is, will give you the perfect excuse.”

“He’s going to cut me? On purpose?!” Her mouth hung open.

Aramis was suddenly grinning at her. “You wanted us to treat you like the boy we knew before. Here you go.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but had absolutely nothing to say. She had talked herself into this corner, and she knew they would never truly harm her. It didn’t stop her from deflating instantly, slouching against the wall at her back while cursing at all three of them. She sat there and glared, her arms folded and a look on her face that suggested she would happily kill them all.

Their response was to raise their glasses to her, and toast her in unison.

“Cheers, d’Artagnan!”

She growled. They laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with this chapter as I wrote it kind of quickly. It leaves me where I need to be though! Hopefully it's still in character and all the rest.
> 
> Thanks for your continued encouragement! ;)
> 
> Banana xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one! :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Banana xx

The yard was full of anxious and excited musketeers, a low murmur of anticipation winding through the air as they stood in vague formation, waiting for Captain Treville to appear and explain why they had all been told to gather here at this time. 

D’Artagnan stood alongside her friends, trying not to look as if she knew what was coming. She was ignoring her pounding headache that reminded her that she had let her guard slip and drank too much wine the night before, her frustration and annoyance at her friends making her get carried away while she had sat fuming, and not speaking to them.

Two girlish tantrums in one day. She was suddenly not sure that Athos was the only one not dealing with this very well.

In contrast to her delicate state, Aramis and Porthos both seemed fresh as a daisy. She could feel the anticipation thrumming from the on either side of her – both evidently looking forward to a whole day of sparring and proving themselves over the other musketeers.

“I can’t wait for this, it’s going to be a good day,” Aramis said, smiling and almost bouncing on the spot in his boyish excitement.

She turned her head and looked at him, arms folded, eyebrow lifted in question.

“Well, obviously not _that_ part, just, um, generally.”

She felt a strong sense of satisfaction when his enthusiasm for the day ahead suddenly waned a little. She was not looking forward to this ridiculous plan of theirs, and she was damned if Aramis was going to be allowed to look forward to his part in it.

Porthos grinned at her other side. “I’m going to have a great day.”

“Shut up.” 

She thought she heard Athos chuckle from the other side of Aramis at his obvious huff. Perhaps today was going to be a good day.

A hush fell over the barracks as Treville finally appeared on the balcony to address his men. She barely listened as he spoke; instead she was looking around the yard, sizing up the other musketeers to see which ones she hoped she could beat. Aramis nudged her.

“So today will be a training day – practice for the trials which will be completed this evening. This is your chance to hone your skills. For those of you who do not wish to put yourself forward please offer your services to those who do. Remember this is a contest for honour. They took something of ours, and we are going to show them that we will be taking it back. Continue.” Treville swept away from the balcony back into his office, and d’Artagnan felt a small surge of admiration for the man who could hold the attention and respect of so many good men. Her father had been much the same.

“Come on, let’s get started.” Athos led the three of them away to a quieter space in the yard. Obviously his plan for the day was to train them, or at least put Charline through her paces.

“Swords first?” He asked all three of them when they had settled into an empty space.

“Pistols.” He raised an eyebrow at her demanding tone, but smiled when he realised what she was doing. Swords would come later, as they would be her last event of the day. If she was going to be allowed to compete, then her training was going to last as long as possible.

“Pistols it is.”

Porthos quickly called over one of the stable boys, who willingly fetched a target for them while they loaded their weapons. 

“Now remember at times like this you have the time to concentrate, to breathe through your shot, so take it. Firing a shot in a confrontation is different from hitting a target with time to prepare, so remember that.” 

She rolled her eyes at Aramis as he started explaining it to her. “ I have done this before you know.”

She laughed when he caught her by surprise and stuck out his tongue at her. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Standing confidently in position, she lined up her shot and fired – missing the centre of the target by several inches. She cursed.

“Tut tut, language d’Artagnan!” Aramis smoothly moved into position, nudging her unceremoniously out of the way with his hip. “Now as I was saying...”

She watched as he took his time, lining up his shot carefully, waiting several seconds before he fired and hitting the target dead centre. He turned and grinned at her.

“Alright, alright. Show me then.”

For the next few minutes she allowed Aramis to carefully show her how to aim for such a small target, to take stock of the air and use it to make your aim true.

“As I said, taking your time with a target under pressure is a different experience.”

“I’ve fired at targets before too,” she muttered.

“And you always hit them, but never the centre. Now try.”

Her next shot was much closer to the centre, a mere inch away.

“Much better. Again.”

As she stood and took her next few shots, she listened carefully to Aramis’ instructions, and the advice helpfully offered by Athos and Porthos where they watched at the side, and gradually her shot was surer and surer, until finally she hit the target dead on.

Aramis flung his arms around her shoulders and squeezed her, whooping noisily as he did so. Porthos came over and grabbed her into a brief hug, complete with manly pats on the back that made her feel as if her spine was going to come through and knock her ribs out of place. She glanced at Athos and saw him watching her easy affection with the others with a strange look on his face. When he noticed her looking her gave her another glimpse of her favourite crooked grin.

“Well done d’Artagnan.”

“Thanks,” she answered breathlessly, still not quite recovered from Porthos’ attempt to break her with a hug, and not helped by the flash of the smile she so loved.

Congratulations over, she was quickly pushed aside as Porthos and Aramis decided they were going to stage their own little competition. Athos took a seat on a table near them, his feet on the bench in front of him, so she went and sat in a similar position beside him.

They watched for a few moments in companionable silence.

“Have you decided yet?” Athos asked her quietly.

“Decided what?"

“Whether you can trust yourself to lose when you have to, so that Treville is not forced to appoint you as the champion, or if Aramis is going to have to injure you out.”

She sighed. She didn’t particularly want to do either of them, and said as much without taking her eyes off of her competing friends, who were now arguing about whether or not Aramis had distracted Porthos on purpose.

“You know why we cannot let you be the champion.” He wasn’t looking at her either.

“I know why, but I still think I could do it.” 

They fell silent for a few minutes more, watching the other two in amusement as Porthos tried to retaliate (as Aramis had most definitely distracted the big musketeer) and put a rather calm and focused Aramis off his stride. It wasn’t working.

Athos took her by surprise with another quiet question. “Would it make it easier if I agreed with you, that you could indeed do it, if circumstances were different?”

She turned to look at him finally, mouth agape and a look of wonder on her face. He met her look with one of wry amusement.

“It might,” she spluttered.

“Alright. If circumstances were different, and Labarge were not a direct threat to you, I would be doing all I could to give you the chance to be selected.”

“Even with the truth that you now know?”

“I cannot answer that d’Artagnan. I do know, and it affects my reactions, of course it does. But I can acknowledge that you are a good soldier, and worthy of being a musketeer. Will that do?”

She nodded dumbly. He smiled back at her then turned back to watch their companions once again.

“Good. Now decide.”

She frowned. She knew what they wanted. The suggestion of being injured had been purely for show, to make her see that what she wanted was not going to materialise. The sensible option, the only real option, was to somehow lose when she was competing for the position. But Athos had been right to ask if she could trust herself to do that. She was the most competitive person she knew of, and probably amongst the most stubborn.

And so it was partly through knowing her limitations in her pride, but partly through wanted to make a point in return to her friends, that she surprised Athos when she jutted out her chin firmly, eyes staring straight ahead, and announced that she would not forfeit so Aramis was going to have to injure her.

She could feel Athos staring at her for a few moments, but she did not look in his direction. She simply heard him growl out a frustrated “fine” between gritted teeth, then he had pushed himself off the table and made his way over to Porthos and Aramis, who had tossed aside their pistols and begun wrestling in earnest a few moments before. 

She watched as his presence immediately made them stop, effortlessly commanding the same kind of respect from his peers as his captain did. He spoke to them quickly, and both Porthos and Aramis turned their heads to stare at her from their positions on the ground. Porthos shook his head at her, knowing she was just being stubborn, and Aramis simply looked resigned. They looked back at Athos as he spoke again, then nodded as they got to their feet and made their way over to her, drawing their swords as they moved.

Her facial expression did not change as she watched this whole exchange. She was going to show them. They might not be happy about it, but they had given her this option, so she was going to take it.

“Swords.” Athos only said the one word, but it was clearly a gruff instruction. She hopped down from the table, drawing her sword and moving to face him while the others began sparring behind him. 

She listened attentively as he gave her instruction, showing her how to better anticipate her opponent’s movements and how to improve on the moves and avoidance measures she could already do well. Once she had been beaten by him for some time, but improving with every match, he announced he was stepping aside to watch and one of the others should take over.

Porthos went to walk forwards, but at a look from Athos he stopped and Aramis came to her instead. It seemed Athos wanted this over with as soon as possible. Fine.

The two of them danced for several minutes, matching each other’s moves and her demonstrating all the time how well she had listened to Athos’ advice. 

Then she allowed herself to wonder for a moment if she should do something to let Aramis hit her, and that was distraction enough. She felt a sharp sting as his sword sliced into her right arm a little, not deeply but enough to hurt, and enough to bleed down the sleeve of her jacket. Instinctively she dropped her sword and pressed her left hand against the wound, hissing as the stinging pain increased. The worry and apology in Aramis’ eyes was completely genuine as he moved quickly to her side, Athos and Porthos right behind him.

“Let me see d’Artagnan.” He moved her hand gently away, but quickly realised he would need to remove her jacket. Her eyes widened in panic when he said so, and his eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment, before realisation dawned.

“Come on. Upstairs.” He released her hand and let her take hold of her wound again, leading her quickly through the throng of sparring musketeers, some of whom had paused on seeing what had happened, and upstairs to the small room that was often used to treat wounded soldiers. She made sure on her way past that everyone who looked at her could see the blood.

She followed quietly as he opened the door, saying nothing as she quickly regretted choosing this option. Damn her stubbornness, this hurt! She heard the door close and realised that Porthos and Athos had followed.

“Jacket.” 

Obediently, she removed her jacket, holding out her arm for him to see.

“If you were anyone else I would ask you to remove the shirt too. It means I’ll need to cut the sleeve of your shirt.” He smiled weakly at her.

She nodded, feeling slightly queasy as she looked at the blood that still trickled down her arm smoothly. _Do not faint, do not faint._ She looked away as he cut into her shirt, carefully slicing up the sleeve all the way to her underarm. He took her arm gently in his hands and began to inspect it. Porthos peered over his shoulder and Athos began to pace across the door. He was muttering to himself but all she heard was sporadic words like “reckless”, “stubborn”, “idiot”. She decided to ignore him.

“You’re fine d’Artagnan. I was afraid I had cut deeper than I mean to, but you’re fine.”

“Stitches?” she asked, really hoping not.

“Just a couple.”

Porthos grinned at her. “Do you want Athos to punch you?”

“No thanks. I can take it.” She sounded proud, but she was slightly terrified. Stitches would be a new experience to her, and she didn’t think she was going to enjoy it.

She was right.

Aramis fetched the bag of medical supplies from the chest in the room then made her sit down on the cot before he began to work. She hissed as the needle punctured her skin for the first time, a wave of nausea hitting her as the strange sensation of the thread being pulled through her skin hit her. Athos flinched at her hiss, but continued pacing, while Porthos sat immediately at her side as Aramis gave her a moment to get used to the feeling. 

With Porthos’ arm squeezed around her, she allowed herself to turn away from what Aramis was doing and squashed her face into Porthos’ shoulder. 

“All done.” 

She lifted her head and looked over to a smiling Aramis.

Four neat stitches in a matter of minutes. Aramis was clearly pleased with his work as he cleaned the blood from her arm, and wrapped the wound in a clean bandage. She tried to cover her embarrassment at her need of comfort and stood quickly to thank him and put her jacket back on.

She wavered slightly as the blood loss hit her for a moment and it was Athos who caught her as she started to lean a bit too far forward. 

“Alright?” His voice was very soft, and right next to her ear. She took a moment to breathe, to relish the feelings of his arms warmly wrapped around her. But afraid of staying there too long, she nodded after a few seconds, and pulled herself away. 

“Just got up too fast I think.” 

“Absolutely. I think you should go home though. Getting stitched up for the first time is never pleasant, is it Porthos?” Aramis turned wide, innocent eyes to Porthos, and grinned when he blushed a little.

“Not it isn’t. You should go home d’Artagnan.”

So Porthos’ first stitched injury was definitely something she was going to have to ask about.

She put up no protest about going home. She had no desire to stay and watch someone being given the opportunity she was dying for. Hopefully Constance would be at home and she could distract herself with some time in her friend’s company. 

Athos walked beside her as she descended the stairs outside, and right across the yard to the gate, where he finally stopped.

“We’ll see you tomorrow d’Artagnan.” She said her goodbye and walked away, pausing only when he called to her. “Perhaps next time you’ll take the sensible option.” 

She blushed and turned away. He was right though. Next time pain would come after pride, not before.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Constance was indeed home when d’Artagnan arrived, gasping aloud when she saw her friend’s pale face, and grimacing at the ripped, bloodstained sleeve, and the bloody jacket she still carried after putting it on proved too awkward with her stitches for the moment.

Charline was quickly seated at the kitchen table with food and drink in front of her, while Constance fluttered about her like a mother hen. D’Artagnan wanted to laugh a little, but it was actually quite nice to be looked after for a change.

The fluttering abruptly stopped and her voice was suddenly less soothing when d’Artagnan explained what had happened.

“They did this on purpose? And you let them?!” Her words were punctuated by a slap round the back of the head.

“Hey!”

“Yes, well. You said you wanted to be treated like one of them, and if they were here that’s what I’d do so, yes.” Constance flustered a little, but slapped Charline again when she started to laugh at her.

“Ow! Alright, alright.”

“Hmph,” Constance sat down at the table with a thump, pulling d’Artagnan’s wine away from her and helping herself.

“Look I know it was stupid, but it was the only option. I backed myself into this mess by pointing out that nobody would believe I didn’t fight for it,” she shrugged.

“Stupid is most definitely the right word! And I’ll be telling those friends of yours exactly the same thing.” 

Charline grinned at the thought of the telling off Constance was sure to give them. 

“So you’re not going back to the barracks today?”

D’Artagnan blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Um, no.”

“And they won’t be round to get you?”

“The trials are in a couple of hours. They said they would see me tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Constance clapped her hands as she was suddenly overcome with excitement. “Come on!” She stood and grabbed d’Artagnan by the hand, thankfully on her non-stitched arm, and pulled her up from the table and out of the room.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s something I want to do, want to see. And now seems like the perfect time.”

Charline found herself being pulled up the stairs to her room, and thrust abruptly inside. Without explaining herself, Constance left again, leaving her standing stupidly in the middle of the room for several minutes, before she was suddenly back with her arms full of clothes.

“No, no, no,” D’Artagnan gaped at her mildly horrified.

“Yes, yes, yes! I want to see you, properly. Please?” Constance did her best impression of the d’Artagnan puppy eyes.

With a groan of despair, she melted under the gaze of her friend. She often felt bad for Constance, trapped in marriage that kept her secure but with no real excitement in her life. How could she deny her friend a little bit of amusement.

“Fine. But just this once, and just because nobody is here.”

With a grin that would have shamed her God-fearing mother, Constance set to work. She removed d’Artagnan’s shirt and trousers, laughing at the sight of her friend in her men’s underwear and her chest wrapped firmly in bandages.

“Does that not hurt?” she gestured to d’Artagnan’s chest.

Charline glanced down at herself and shrugged. “I don’t really think about it anymore, it’s just become habit to do it every morning. It’s a bit of a relief to remove them at night I suppose,” she grinned up at Constance. “It might be a bit difficult to explain if I didn’t strap them down though!”

Constance looked her over for a minute. “Right, wash yourself and put on these clean underclothes. I’ll bring up some warmer water and we’ll wash your hair, then get you into one of these dresses.” With that she was gone, and d’Artagnan hastily stripped off her undergarments and bandages, scrubbing the dirt from her skin with the water that remained in her jug from that morning, still warm from sitting in the sunshine beside the open shutter.

By the time Constance returned she was dressed in her friend’s stockings, bloomers and petticoat, waiting patiently for the next stage. “You look different already,” Constance said with a smile. “Come on.”

She obeyed every instruction she was given over the next two hours, allowing Constance to wash her hair carefully, then towel dry it in the sunlight, brushing it carefully all the while. They talked for a long time, about Gascony, about the musketeers, about Athos. They even talked about Bonacieux, which was unusual. Finally dry, Charline allowed Constance to pin her hair up, hiding the carelessly maintained boy cut and making her look and feel as if she had long hair once again.

Then came the final stage – the dress.

She chose a green dress, one of the ones she had often admired when Constance wore it. She stepped into the skirt, feeling stranger by the second. It wasn’t long before the corset was fully tightened and the transformation from Charles to Charline was complete.

“Oh my goodness d’Art. You are absolutely beautiful!” Constance came to stand in front of her, looking her up and down with tears in her eyes. “I knew you would be, but I never could have pictured this. Come and see.”

Again she was being dragged by the hand, this time into Constance’s room where there was a long looking glass that she was shoved in front of. She gaped at herself.  
“You see?” Constance was grinning beside her like a fool.

And she actually did see. She actually felt beautiful. 

Her dark hair was simply but elegantly swept back from her forehead, gathered at the back of her head with just a few tendrils left to frame her face. The tendrils also made her dark eyes stand out in her sallow skin, resting above her noticeable cheekbones and naturally pink lips. Glancing further down, she saw how nicely the green of the gown sat against her smooth skin, her breasts, briefly freed then bound once again in the corset, lifted to make them stand out a little, and highlight her narrow waist.

She was indeed beautiful.

Without thinking, she reached up to touch her hair, reaching round behind her head to see how Constance had pinned it. She felt a sharp pull on her arm and snapped it back down to her side, hissing in pain.

“Oh wait,” Constance grabbed her and lifted her arm gently and checked the stitches she had just agitated. “They’re still intact, just, but there is a little blood. You’ll need to get Aramis to check them again tomorrow.”

She moved towards the door. “I’ll go and get a cloth to stop the blood.”

D’Artagnan was once again left to gaze at herself in the mirror. She didn’t feel bad about doing it, when else was she going to see herself like this?

She felt something tickling her arm and looked down to see a tiny trickle of blood making its way down towards her elbow. She didn’t want to touch it in case she got it on any of Constance’s clothes, so she hurried down the stairs to catch her.

“Constance? It’s running down my arm, I didn’t want it to-”

She skidded to a halt as she reached the bottom of the stairs. How had she not heard the door?

For there, standing in the hallway having clearly just been let in the house, was a stunned Athos.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short delay! 
> 
> Thanks again - the last chapter proved a rather popular one! Hopefully this one will continue your enjoyment...
> 
> B x

OhGod-ohGod-ohGod-ohGod-ohGod-ohGod! This was all that ran through d’Artagnan’s head for a few moments as she and Athos came to a standstill. Her face was fighting off a blush that threatened to turn her scarlet, and he was frozen with that stunned look on his face. Obviously, neither of them had a clue what to do next.

A series of questions started pouring over themselves while Charline’s eyes were still locked with Athos’. Do I speak? Do I run? Why is he looking at me like that? Why isn’t he saying anything? Should I pretend nothing is different? Should I say something? Should I turn and run? Why is nobody saying anything?

Constance was the first to shake herself of the stupor that had taken over all three of them at once.

“Athos. Come in to the kitchen. D’Artagnan, come and get cleaned up please.” 

She had spoken in a way that left no room for argument, or suggested that anything was at all out of place. They both did as they were bid to, meekly.

D’Artagnan walked right past the table that Athos moved towards, keeping her back to him as she took a cloth from Constance and began to clean the trickle of blood from her arm, inspecting the stitches closely as if it hadn’t already been done.

“Was there a reason for your visit?” Constance was still the only calm person in the room.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I-, well, I came to check on d’Artagnan first and foremost, to check that there were no more repercussions.”

Even with her back to them she could feel the stare Constance was levelling at Athos. “She’s right there. You can ask her you know.” A hint of amusement had crept into her voice.

“Well?” his voice was suddenly gruff as he addressed her directly, and she turned to look at him in surprise.

He was now looking at her coldly, so coldly that a she couldn’t suppress a shudder that ran through her. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

“Evidently.” 

He stared at her a moment more, before snapping his eyes away from her. “I should go. I came to fill you in on the events of the trials, but you are obviously busy with other things.”

With that he swept out of the room, not looking at her again as he left. D’Artagnan’s knees suddenly gave out and she grasped onto a chair in front of her, pulling it out to sit down as Constance rushed to her side, tears evident in her eyes.

“Oh Charline, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, I should never have made you do this.” She wrapped her arms tightly around d’Artagnan from behind her, a hand coming up to grip the arm crossed over her chest.

“I have to go.” She pushed Constance’s comforting arms away from her, pushing herself away from her friend and running out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.

She immediately began pulling the pins from her hair, dry, heaving sobs wracking her as she destroyed the image that Constance had created. Hair loose, she reached her arms behind her and tried frantically to pull the ribbons that held the corset tight to her torso. She started to panic as she realised she couldn’t reach and she yelled in frustration.

Suddenly, soft hands were at her back. “Here, let me,” Constance said, calmly undoing the ties and releasing her from the constraint. As the bones loosened around her ribs she began to take in shaky breaths, at the same time as she was tearing Constance’s clothes from her.

“D’Artagnan! Stop this,” Constance sounded frightened as she placed her hands on Charline’s, stopping her briefly. “You need to calm down.”

“I need to speak to him!” She was shouting, but not angrily.

“And say what exactly? Sorry that you saw the real me?” Constance shouted back.

This time there was anger. “It’s not his fault! He can’t help the way he feels.”

Constance shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “He can help his behaviour d’Artagnan, he can. The way he looked at you, I-”

“Please, don’t,” d’Artagnan dropped onto the bed. “Don’t remind me. And don’t think badly of him, please. There are things you don’t know, that I can’t tell you. Just, trust me.”

“If he knowingly hurts you I won’t forgive him,” she said firmly.

“He won’t,” d’Artagnan looked her friend straight in the eye. “He will never know how I feel, so he will never know the hurt that I feel that he cannot love me back.” 

Constance sat down beside her. “You make me so sad sometimes. I don’t understand why you have resigned yourself to being unhappy, to never getting what you want.”

“I can’t tell you about him, I can’t break the tiny bit of trust he has left me with.”

“I know. I would never ask you to, just, well I know what it can be to settle for a life you are not happy with.”

D’Artagnan reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “I’m alright.”

Constance snorted. “Of course you are.”

She smiled at the sarcasm, then sighed. “What do I do?”

“Buggered if I know sweetheart,” a shrug. “Leave him tonight. Speak to him tomorrow, then take it from there. It’s all I can think of.”

“I suppose so. I don’t know what I would say just now anyway.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, d’Artagnan staring into space while Constance played with the ribbons of the abandoned corset lying on the bed beside her.

“Do you really have no hope?”

“None, Constance. He, well he has reason not to like or trust women very much, and that’s all I’ll say. No. The most I can hope for is to be his friend.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“I just thought you would have more fight in you that that, that’s all.”

D’Artagnan laughed. “He’s even more stubborn than I am Constance, there’s nothing to fight for.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she stood and gathered the clothes scattered around the room then headed to the door. “Just remember that the sight of you stunned him into silence, and he’s got a whole night of wallowing to get the image of you in that dress stamped into his mind.” 

With a wink she left the room, closing the door behind her softly. D’Artagnan shook her head after her. Ludicrous. There was no way that Athos was going to see her like that, she had come to terms with it. Sort of.

No, what she needed to be thinking about was how to approach him tomorrow when she saw him at the barracks.

She lay back on the bed, still clad in Constance’s underclothes, and settled herself in for another long night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dawn had only been an hour or two away when she finally dropped off to sleep, so she arrived at the barracks the next morning in a rush, slightly dishevelled and looking like she had had even less sleep than she’d managed.

“Oh my,” Aramis greeted her as she slid into her seat opposite him. “You look delightful this morning.”

“Shut up.” She didn’t even bother to glare at him, but watched as he exchanged a grin with Porthos.

“Charming too. Trouble sleeping?”

“Well, it’s difficult to get comfortable when you’ve got a throbbing arm keeping you awake.”

She felt bad when she saw a look of guilt fleetingly cross his face. “Sorry Aramis, I didn’t mean it. I’m just grumpy this morning. My choice, remember?”

“Here, have some breakfast.” Porthos pushed a bowl of food towards her, which she took with a smile of thanks.

“Aramis, could you check my stitches this morning please?” she asked between bites. “I may have, um, pulled it a bit when I got home yesterday.”

“Sure,” he raised one eyebrow. “What have you been doing?”

She ignored his question and continued eating, earning herself a wink from him. 

“Where’s Athos?” 

“With the captain. Talking about the challenge I imagine,” said Porthos.

“Oh yes!” she dropped the bowl she had just picked up. “What happened with the trials?”

Porthos and Aramis looked at her strangely. 

“Didn’t Athos tell you?” Porthos asked.

“Oh, he told you he was coming round then. Well, um, no he didn’t. He didn’t stay long.” 

Aramis looked at her even more quizzically than before. “Well, the captain is doing it himself.”

“He’s what?” she gaped at them.

Porthos was looking at her with concern. “He went out yesterday, while we were stitching you up I think, and when he came back he announced that he was doing it himself. The men weren’t happy.”

Aramis chuckled dryly. “To say the least.”

“But why? Why would he do that?” 

“Because the cardinal has recruited Labarge as a red guard and is using him as their champion.” Aramis was blunt when Porthos looked like he didn’t want to say it.

“He did what? He recruited that thug!? He burned down my farm!” She was fuming.

“We know, we know. Athos wasn’t exactly happy about it, neither was the captain.”

Obviously this was what Athos had come by to tell her the night before. She realised, of course, the implications of the Labarge in the Cardinal Richelieu’s command. If he mentioned the name d’Artagnan...

“Here comes Athos,” Aramis nodded to the stairs causing the other two to look round, and sure enough here he was coming towards them. D’Artagnan’s heart began to beat wildly in her chest.

“Porthos, Aramis, we are to accompany the captain to the palace to set the terms for the challenge, which will take place later today.” He spoke abruptly, and immediately turned to leave.

Porthos frowned. “What about d’Artagnan?” he shouted after Athos’ retreating back, while Aramis was eyeing her curiously.

“D’Artagnan will stay at the barracks.” He barely paused to answer, and didn’t even look round before walking on towards the stables.

Aramis whistled as he disappeared from sight. “Oh dear. He didn’t even glance in your direction! What the hell did you do?” He was looking at her in amazement.

“D’Art? Is everything alright?” Porthos’ concern was evident.

She shook her head violently – no, everything was not alright. Breathlessly, she told them in a whisper what had happened the night before.

The musketeers shared a glance. “We need to sort this Aramis, he can’t go on like this.”

“I know.”

“What? No, don’t do anything!” she began to panic. “It’s my fault, don’t get yourselves involved, please.” She couldn’t bear the thought of a rift forming between these brothers because of her.

“We are involved d’Artagnan,” Aramis dismissed her concerns. “You are one of us, and we cannot continue this way.”

“We will just talk to him, that’s all,” Porthos agreed.

She felt warmed by the care they were offering her, but she could not let them deal with it for her. “No, it’s fine. I’ll speak to him myself, I will. Please do nothing, unless I ask you to.”

“Are you sure?” Aramis asked doubtfully.

She nodded. “I’ll speak to him tonight.” 

They each clapped a hand on her shoulder as they left to follow Athos to the stables, leaving her to wait miserably for the day on their return. She couldn’t explain to them why she understood Athos’ difficulty in what had happened the night before, but she would keep her promise and speak to him that night. However difficult it was going to be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She waited long after the end of her normal day, finding jobs to do to fill the time before her musketeers and the captain arrived back. It had already been amongst the longest days she had experienced, with the hours slowly creeping by and giving her plenty of time to torture herself with her thoughts.

She had quite quickly decided the she would have her conversation with Athos here. He could not ignore her plea if she asked to speak to him in front of the others. Neutral ground was what she needed, because she was terrified.

And angry.

Understanding Athos’ reaction to the sight of her in the dress was not difficult, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t angry that he found it so easy to be cold to her, to dismiss her as if she meant nothing to any of them.

She wasn’t even sure she had a right to be angry, but following her temper had always been her way, so she figured that this occasion should be no different.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent praying that she would not blurt out something she did not want to in her anger.

For the last hour or so she had been assisting the stable boys in mucking out the horses, polishing the tack and generally tidying up. The evening shift of musketeers had long since arrived and were engaged in a variety of jobs already, so she decided to send the stable boys home and finish the work herself. Idleness was not her friend this evening.

She had just finished the last of the saddles and hung it in its rightful place when she heard hooves entering the yard. One horse? 

She exited the stables and made her way into the yard, wondering who had come back ahead of the party. In the gloom of the approaching twilight she saw the man alighting from his horse and, on spotting her, making his way towards her. 

This man was no musketeer.

“Can I help you sir?” She was uneasy, and suddenly aware of the fact that she had removed her sword earlier while working in the stables, and that was where it still lay.

He continued to approach her silently, looking her up and down as he walked.

She swallowed. “Declare yourself sir, before you find yourself surrounded by musketeers.” She stuck out her chin and stood strong, trying not to think about the size of this man in front of her. With sudden dread, she was hit with the sudden knowledge of who this man was.

He grinned at her. “Young d’Artagnan, we meet at last.” He was nearly beside her now, his hand gently resting on the handle of the pistol at his waist.

“Labarge I presume?”

“Correct boy, correct.” 

If she hadn't been frozen in fear she may have been relieved that at least her secret appeared safe. She went to speak, but stopped when his pistol was suddenly raised in her direction, his other hand raised with a finger to his lips.

“Now, let me get a good look at you boy.” The pistol didn’t drop until he was right next to her, circling her in a predatory fashion as he appraised her. “You don’t look much like him, that’s true. But that proud stance, that stubborn belied that you are more than you are? That’s Alexandre d’Artagnan through and through.”

Her knees began to quiver slightly as thoughts of escape whirled quickly through her mind. How was he even here?

“I couldn’t believe it when she told me where to find you. Here, under my nose, or under the nose of the bastard Treville. So simple.”

“She?” 

“Ah, so you don’t know of your admirer? A fascinating woman, quite intrigued by you and your relationship with these _musketeers_ ,” he spat the word at her. “Strange she should be so interested, yet free me from the cardinal’s custody knowing I would come to kill you. But no matter. She did, and I am here.”

D’Artagnan was frantically trying to take all of this in, and trying not to focus on the very real possibility that she would be dead in the next few moments.

“So now I must simply decide how to kill you. The pistol seems a little too easy, don’t you think?” 

He tucked the weapon back into his waistband. She glanced down and was relieved to see that he had no sword. No time to grab one as he escaped, she presumed.

Her voice was cool as she spoke. “So it’s to be a hand to hand fight is it?”

He laughed cruelly at her. “No fight boy, just your destruction.”

With that he lunged at her making a grab for her head, but she was ready for him and twisted from his grasp, grabbing his wrist as it passed her and sinking her teeth deeply into him. 

He roared in surprise and pain, giving her a moment of relief as the noise was sure to attract attention. As he grabbed at his bloodied wrist, she danced out of his reach and ran towards the door into the mess, where help would be found. She was almost there when she was grabbed from behind and spun round and pushed into the table, the one she usually sat at with her friends. The surprised yelp she gave as he caught her was quickly cut off as he wrapped a large hand around her neck and squeezed. He was behind her, his other arm clamped around her and his legs pressing hers into the bench, not giving her an inch to move.

“Much as I’d love to see your face at this moment, I believe I will enjoy choking you to death nice and slowly,” he whispered into her ear.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled to breathe. She tried to grab onto a single thought as her mind slowly began to darken. Her lungs were burning as she scrabbled desperately at his hand with her fingers, sobs rising up but having nowhere to go.

Her vision was beginning to darken round the edges. No one had heard. No one was coming.

She closed her eyes, tears falling down her face as she accepted her fate.

She was only dimly aware of the sound of pounding hooves as her vision faded to black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“D’Artagnan, wake up. Breathe for me d’Artagnan, please.”

The voice was soft, but desperate in its pleading. She choked as she tried to take a breath, coughing uncontrollably as her lungs tried to fill themselves.

“That’s it, come on. Keep breathing.”

She felt herself moving, and suddenly realised she had been lying down and was now being pulled up by a pair of strong arms to sit, helping her lungs. But they couldn’t fill up properly. Why could she not take a deep breath?

She began to take short, shallow breaths. Easier, and possible.

A hand began to stroke her hair, while the voice continued to murmur encouragement to her.

_What had happened?_

Slowly she opened her eyes, her mind finally beginning to focus on where she was, and what had occurred. She began to struggle in panic.

“Labarge!” she choked out, but the arms held her firm. 

“Stop it, everything’s alright. Just breathe. Calm down.”

She obeyed the command in the voice and stopped struggling, concentrating on her shallow breaths. She realised that she was being held in a hug, seated on the bed in the same room she had been stitched up in the day before. Her cheek was resting against the bearded cheek of the man who held her. She focused for a second and listened to his voice.

“You’re fine, just breathe. Keep breathing d’Artagnan,” the voice was whispering, still an element of desperation in it, and she felt a strong wave of emotion as she realised two things at once.

Firstly, the man who held her was trying to convince himself that she was alright, not her.

Secondly, the man who held her was Athos.


	11. Chapter 11

She let her arms slowly creep around him until she was holding him back. She buried her head into his shoulder, taking the opportunity to be as close to him as she possibly could. To her surprise he didn’t move away. He just held onto her, keeping her still as she continued to catch her breath. 

They stayed like this until the door opened softly, but even then he didn’t let go of her completely. She didn’t move her head from where it was pressed into his neck but she felt his head twist round above her to look at the door.

“It’s done. The captain wants to see you.” Aramis’ voice came into the room softly. She felt Athos nod above her, and then heard the door close quietly.

“D’Artagnan,” he began to loosen his hold on her and she followed suit. “I have to go, but I will be back as soon as I can. Are you alright for now?”

She pulled back from him completely and nodded. She watched his face carefully, looking for any sign of what he was feeling, but he was staring at her neck, a look of cold fury filling his face. Without saying anything else he stood and walked from the room.

She couldn’t stop the grin that spread over her face as he left. He didn’t hate her! No matter how angry she had made him, or now hurt he had been, she now had proof that he cared. She was going to hold onto this moment for a long time. She didn’t expect she’d see another like it, not unless she nearly died again, and she didn’t particularly want to do that.

Quickly, she pulled her shirt from her trousers and reached up underneath it to loosen the bandage that wrapped around her chest and as still stopping her from taking a deep breath. Pain hit her sharply when her lungs were finally free and she filled them with a gasp. She forced herself to keep breathing deeply, the pain lessening with every exhale.

A knock at the door startled her, but she called out a welcome to whoever it was, then smiled at Porthos and Aramis as they both stuck their heads into the room with a grin. She welcomed them with a gesture and pulled herself back to sit against the wall at the head of the bed she was still resting on. Porthos pulled over the stool from the corner of the room and placed it and himself next to the bed. Aramis, with slightly less delicacy, threw himself onto the bed beside her, lounging across it and leaning against the wall that ran along its length.

“That’s gonna hurt like hell for a bit,” Porthos said.

“What is?” she asked. Her voice was raspy.

Aramis chuckled. “That. And your actual throat, it looks bruised already.”

Her hands moved to her neck and sure enough the flesh was tender. That must have been what Athos had been staring at, such anger in his face. Another sign that he cared.

“What are you smiling at?” Aramis poked her in the leg and she quickly rearranged her face.

“Nothing.”

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you anywhere else?” Porthos’ eyes roamed over her, looking for some sign of hidden injury.

“No, he didn’t,” she shook her head. “I’m alright.”

“Did he know, you know, about you?”

Her head shook again. “He called be ‘boy’ a few times, so I think we’re safe. What happened to him? Actually, just what happened with everything?”

She sat comfortably and listened while her big brothers took it in turn to fill her in on the events of the day, starting from the beginning of the contest.  
Treville had bested Labarge easily with pistols, which only made the brute angry. When it came to swords, he didn’t play fairly and managed to catch the captain on the arm with a sly shot. When the captain appeared unable to go on, Athos had stepped in as his second, and had beaten Labarge at his own game. For a second, as Athos stood above Labarge with his sword poised in triumph over him, Aramis claimed that it looked as though the musketeer was going to make it a fight to the death, but after a moment he had stepped back, and Aramis and Porthos had taken him into custody, locking him up securely before heading back to the captain and Athos.  
D’Artagnan jumped in eagerly when they said they could not understand how he had gotten out, remembering suddenly of this ‘admirer’ Labarge had spoken of, and ignoring the sinking feeling she got when she realised that this was something else they would now need to deal with.

“It’s how he knew I was here as well, he said this woman told him where to find me.”

“No mention of who she was, or why the interest?” Aramis asked.

She shrugged and all three of them shared a glance of concern.

“Then what?” 

They would come back to this mystery later.

“Then it was time to leave, after the king had gone over every detail of events in excited detail, and that’s when we found Labarage was missing.”  
Porthos explained that they had found his cell empty, and two guards out cold nearby. One of them was missing a pistol. They quickly established that a horse had also gone missing, and quickly mounted to set off after him.

The picture Porthos painted was vivid. As they were leaving to follow him, Aramis had asked where they thought he might go. Athos’ face had gone ashen as he had whispered her name, and all four of them had instantly spurred their horses on and rode to the barracks as fast as they could, Athos leading the charge.

When the four of them had ridden into the yard they had seen her instantly, wilting, eyes closed and choking around the hand that Labarge had pressed against her throat. Aramis had immediately lifted his pistol and taken a shot at Labarge, hitting him in the shoulder and forcing him to drop her. Porthos had run at him and grabbed him, twisting him away from her as Athos had bolted to her side, lifted her unconscious body and run up the stairs to move her from harm’s way.

Labarge had been overcome fairly quickly by Aramis and Porthos, while the captain had headed into the mess, yelling for musketeers.

“Is he dead?”

“He is.”

“Which one of you got the bastard?”

The two musketeers grinned at each other. “We both did.”

Two swords at the same time. He hadn’t stood a chance.

“The captain appeared again just as we finished him. He was furious, but mostly that no one had been there to help you,” Aramis finished their tale.

D’Artagnan shrugged, not willing to blame anyone for what had happened other than Labarge himself. “Everyone was busy. It was all very quick, and very quiet. Nobody’s fault.”

Aramis grinned at her. “You may have to work hard to convince the captain of that.”

“And Athos,” added Porthos.

She blushed at his words, but ducked her head to hide it from them. She still couldn’t quite believe the way he had held her, or the description of him running to her and lifting her away from danger, leaving the fight to the others. She was trying not to get carried away with her thoughts of what it might mean he could possibly feel for her. She was trying to not kid herself.

“So what of this woman then?” Porthos asked, after a few moments of silence.

Relieved at the change of subject, d’Artagnan lifted her head and looked at him eagerly. “I have no idea. I can’t think who it could be. Labarge just said she had some sort of obsession with me.”

Aramis laughed. “She might get a fright if she gets too close.”

She leaned forward and cuffed him round the back of the head, laughing at him. “No, no I don’t think it’s like that, well not entirely. According to Labarge she’s ‘obsessed’, but also very interested in my relationship with the three of you.” She shrugged.

Neither of them could anything that resembled an answer to the puzzle.

“Oh, he also said that she set him free knowing that he was coming to try and kill me.”

Porthos and Aramis both suddenly had deep frowns on their faces. 

“We need to get Athos.,” Porthos got to his feet suddenly, moving towards the door, but was beaten to it when it opened from the outside and Athos entered.

He took one look at the faces of his fellow musketeers and frowned. “What’s going on?”

Aramis spoke casually, without moving from his position on the bed. “It would appear that one of the four of us has an enemy.”

“More likely, one of the three of us,” Porthos added.

“Another one?” Athos asked dryly, entering the room and closing the door. His eyes flickered to Charline, once more alighting on her neck, before he dragged the other stool over and sat beside Porthos.

“This one led Labarge to d’Artagnan,” Porthos looked at her sadly while he spoke. She smiled weakly back at him.

“What do you mean?” Athos’ voice was suddenly sharp, and he was looking at her for an explanation. Quickly, she gave him the same information she had shared with the others.

“Shit. One of us then. Or all of us.” Athos lifted his head to look at the ceiling in frustration.

Aramis answered her confused expression. “If she has an interest in your relationship with us but sent him here to kill you, then evidently hurting one or all of us was the aim of this little incident.”

How did she keep doing this? How did she keep making life so difficult for these men? Her face must have shown her despair, because Aramis’ hand was suddenly resting on the knee that was bent up beside where he was lounging.

“Not your fault. And not the first time one or more of us has pissed someone off so much,” he smiled at her.

“Really?” she smiled back, trying to joke with him. “Have you jilted someone lately? Rejected some dangerous lady, heaven forbid?”

He cuffed her knee the same way she had done to his head earlier and rolled his eyes at her.

“This is going to take some time to work out. Perhaps a fortnight out of Paris may help?”

“What, are you going to take us all to your château for a holiday Athos?” Porthos nudged him, grinning, but d’Artagnan saw how the man flinched at the reminder of his former home. He hadn’t yet told either of them anything about that night. 

She also noticed that he avoided catching her eye as he ignored Porthos’ question.

“The Queen is to take some time in the country and has asked for an escort. She asked for us specifically, in fact, so we are to accompany her as of tomorrow,” he looked at d’Artagnan. “I have asked that d’Artagnan be allowed to accompany us, and the captain agreed.”

He smiled at her slightly, which she answered with a smile of her own. Some time alone with them could be just what she needed to show him that he had nothing to fear from trusting her again.

“Excellent,” said Aramis. “A little time away from Paris could give us some time in safety, to try and work out who the hell this person could be.”

“And some time to concentrate on d’Artagnan’s training,” grinned Porthos.

Fantastic. The intense training sessions they like to put her through were always exhausting, and always left her bruised and sore.

But she was relieved to know that they still planned to train her, despite the knowledge that she would never be a musketeer.

“Looking forward to it,” she said, grinning back at him.

“Come on, it’s late,” said Athos, standing up.

Aramis practically leapt from the bed. “Drinks gentlemen? I think we should toast the end of Labarge, don’t you?”

Porthos agreed eagerly, but d’Artagnan shook her head. “Not tonight Aramis. I just want to get home I think, forget this day ever happened.”

“Are you sure?” Porthos was looking at her in a way that told her this was not the question he wanted to ask, so she answered the one that wasn’t asked.

“I’m fine Porthos, honestly. I’m just tired.” She smiled at them all reassuringly as they all looked at her with the same concern on their faces. She rolled her eyes when their expressions didn’t change. What she really wanted to do was get home and bathe, removing any trace of Labarge from her now throbbing neck. Besides, her voice was still painfully rough, and she was sure she had a few bruises in other places from where he had held her. She wasn’t going to tell them any of that, not with Aramis in such a buoyant mood. She would get enough teasing from him on their journey out of Paris.

Athos rescued her. “Not too late a night please, we leave first thing for the palace.”

“Are you not coming?” Aramis asked from the door, which he and Porthos had already reached.

“Not tonight,” Athos shook his head. “There is preparation to be done.”

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Aramis, before he and Porthos bid them a cheerful goodbye and headed out.

D’Artagnan suddenly realised she was still seated on the bed, in a room alone with Athos, when he turned to look at her. Blushing slightly, she clambered off the bed gracelessly until she was standing before him, trying to ignore his obvious amusement as he watched her.

“Well d’Artagnan,” he held out her jacket and hat to her, which she had just realised he had been carrying when he came back into the room. He must have fetched it from the stables where she left it. She smiled at him, feeling slightly fuzzy in the thought that he had spent his time looking for her belongings. “Home?”

She nodded, turning slightly to make a move towards the door, but he got there before her, holding it open as she walked through it, then lengthening his stride to catch her after he closed it and accompany her back down the stairs into the yard. He was treating her like a girl, but she somehow found herself not caring very much at all.

At the bottom of the steps she found came to a sudden stop, her left foot suspended in mid air before it touched the flat of the yard. She saw out of the corner of her eye as Athos stopped as he realised she was no longer beside him, but she was focused on the large, dark patch of ground in front of her. It was still wet.

The place where Labarge had died, she presumed. She couldn’t explain what had made her stop, or why she was so reluctant to move. For some reason the sight of his blood, or the wet patch from where a cleanup attempt had been made, had frozen her completely and she couldn’t walk any further. She couldn’t walk through it, despite knowing how silly she was being.

She could feel Athos watching her calmly, from the middle of the wet patch of ground. “D’Artagnan?” he called on her softly.

She just shook her head, still staring at the ground in front of her and not moving.

She didn’t move, in fact, until she suddenly felt a pair of hands clasping her under her arms and lifting her quickly. She looked up to see Athos gazing at her in understanding as he took a few steps, carrying her over the sodden ground and depositing her softly on the other side.

“Better?” he asked as he let her go. She nodded back.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I just, I couldn’t. I have no idea why.”

“Come on,” he said, walking towards the gate, but waiting for her to move and come alongside him before setting the pace. They walked in silence for a few moments; until d’Artagnan pointed out that he was going in completely the wrong direction for his home.

“You are still in shock; I would not be doing my duty as a musketeer if I did not see you home safely.”

She snorted at his overly-stiff tone, laughing a little as he turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sometimes you take me by surprise with your formal tone, when it appears for no reason.”

He turned his eyes away from her and kept walking, making her suddenly aware of how stupidly she had spoken. Everything Athos did always had a reason behind it, and perhaps his sudden changes of tone were more to do with keeping his thoughts private and his emotions in check than anything else. 

“So where are we going?” she asked, changing the subject. She noticed that he relaxed instantly beside her. “With the Queen I mean?”

“We’ll get our orders when we get to the palace, but I imagine we’ll be going South into the country. She usually goes out of Paris at this time of year, combining her charities with a break from the palace.”

Charline grinned broadly. A visit to the countryside! It felt an age since she had seen anywhere other than the city or the towns nearby. A couple of months at least.

She began to chatter at Athos, a resounding account of the all the good that the country air would do for them. She was aware that she was talking incessantly, but when she looked at him Athos was smiling to himself, so he obviously had no problem with it.

All too soon the door of the Bonacieux residence was in front of them, and Athos paused as they reached it. She drew herself to a stop, and turned to face him.

“I shall assume that you can make it from here d’Artagnan,” he smiled at her. 

“I should hope so, otherwise I am no use to the musketeers at all,” she smiled back. Inside, her mind was screaming at her, pointing out to her eagerly that they were conversing normally, like friends once more.

“Put a cool cloth on your neck. You must keep the swelling down,” he frowned at her injuries yet again.

“I will.”

He looked up at her face once more, tipping his hat in jest. “Goodnight, d’Artagnan.”

“Goodnight.” 

She watched him as he walked away from her, and then suddenly couldn’t hold her tongue anymore.

“Athos?”

He stopped to look at her.

“Thank you.” For saving me, she wanted to add. For carrying me to safety. For caring.

She said none of it, but he looked at her for a few moments, then nodded his head once before turning once more and melting into the shadows of a nearby alley.

It was another full minute before she could pull herself away from where she stood staring after him, until she suddenly realised that with an unknown danger around he was probably standing in the darkness watching her to make sure she was safe. She blushed furiously, spinning around and opening the door quickly, closing it firmly once she was inside.

She allowed herself to lean back against the door, a stupid smile on her face as she indulged for a moment in her fantasies of what she could somehow make Athos feel for her. She remembered waking up in his embrace, the panic in his voice as he commanded her to breathe. She pulled her hat from her head, running her fingers softly into her hair as she closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his strong hands doing the same thing earlier that evening.

Two whole weeks with him; she was hopeful something good would come of it. Even if it was that they returned to Paris as close as they had seemed to be this evening.

Whistling softly, she made her way further into the house to search for a cloth to cool and place on her neck. 

Suddenly it felt like the best advice she had ever been given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, no cliffhanger! :-)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Banana xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry! Nearly a week between updates, poor show from me I'm afraid.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos in the meantime; a truly humble loaf I am.
> 
> Banana xx

The first week of their time away went almost without incident. In fact, Porthos and Aramis’ fight after the former almost stabbed the latter when polishing the swords was the only thing of note that happened.

It was bliss.

For the first day they rode out of Paris. A small procession consisting of the three musketeers, d’Artagnan, a single carriage carrying the queen and two maids. They were heading for the King’s small summer home in Étampes, where the Queen liked to spend some time every summer, bestowing her charity on the residents of the small town and the farmlands around it.

The ride was long and the maids insisted that the queen rested regularly, which the others were more than happy to oblige. The Queen, it seemed, was keen on avoiding inns and towns and their journey took them through a large amount of the countryside, and afforded them many views of the beauty of unspoiled France. She even insisted that they camp for the one night they needed to spend before reaching Étampes, informing them that she planned to spend several nights in this way in a secluded spot on their return.  
This announcement was the first moment of dread that d’Artagnan had encountered about the whole trip. She hadn’t thought in advance about sleeping arrangements or how she would wash, assuming that they would be staying in grand houses, or at the very least an inn. For the first night she knew she would get thought it without any major incident, but for the week they would spend at the house in Étampes she knew she would be worrying about how she would cope with the return journey. She didn’t exactly relish the thought of getting dirtier and smellier by the day in the company of the Queen. Or the company of Athos, if she was wholly honest with herself.

The musketeers had not brought a tent with them as they had slept on the open ground on many occasions. This gave d’Artagnan some relief, as she would simply take her spot on the floor next to them and that would be that. They had shared lodgings on several occasions before, but half of the time they had separate rooms, and when forced to share she had simply offered to take a space on the floor. Now that her friends knew the truth about her she was sure the process would be much more awkward than it had been in the past.

She just had to hope that the sleeping arrangements in Étampes would be easily solved.

Watching Athos and Porthos trying to build the Queen’s tent while she went for a short walk proved to be hilarious. As she had insisted on only travelling with a limited number of maids, the Queen had brought no manservant to build it for her. The coachmen had stepped forward to help, but were dispatched by the Queen to take some letters on to the nearest town. They would return for the party in the morning. A coin toss had seen Aramis and d’Artagnan on fire duty, while Porthos and Athos had been left to construct the royal residence. By the time the fire was blazing and one of the maids was cooking, they had barely begun to make any progress.

“Just think, you two will be experts at this by the time we have to rebuild it for next week,” Aramis called over to them. 

“Next week we’ll be bringing a bloody manservant back with us from the château to build it if I have anything to do with it,” Porthos shouted from under a pile of cloth that he was trying in earnest to attached to the first of the walls they had built. Athos was muttering and swearing under his breath beside him as he tried to hold the wall up.

The Queen and her second maid returned from their constitutional a while later to find her tent built, although with little grace, and two red-faced and uncomfortable looking musketeers sitting back from the fire waiting to be fed, with the other two beside them doing their best to hide their giggles.

Their night, however, was uninterrupted, and d’Artagnan enjoyed the time to lie under the stars, the warmth of the musketeers surrounding her as they took shifts of sleeping. When Porthos, and then Aramis, were on guard, d’Artagnan lay awake for as long as she could, breathing in the scent of Athos lying next to her and listening to the comforting sound of his breathing. She knew she would regret not sleeping much the next day, but she didn’t care. She would take this opportunity while it presented itself.

Their arrival at the house in Etampes was late the next day, and d’Artagnan was doing her best not to show how difficult she was finding it to keep her eyes open. It may be difficult to explain to Athos if he questioned her that she was tired because she had been basking in his closeness and listening to the sounds he made in his sleep. Instead she kept rubbing her tongue on the roof of her mouth to keep herself awake, and when that began to fail she pinched herself regularly on the thigh until she was sure there was a bruise beginning to form.

The Queen was immediately whisked away by the servants of the household, and the musketeers and d’Artagnan were given leave to rest once they had been fed and watered. 

The four of them were fed in a small dining room, and d’Artagnan ate lazily as she listened to the conversation of her three favourite people going on around her. 

“So what are we accompanying the Queen into town tomorrow?” Porthos asked, a mouthful of hearty stew halfway to his mouth.

“She will wish to go to church in the morning,” Athos replied after swallowing a mouthful of wine. “Two of us should accompany her.”

Aramis immediately volunteered, causing Athos to frown slightly, but when Porthos agreed to go along he nodded his agreement.

“Fine. Then I shall begin d’Artagnan’s training in the morning. In the afternoon we shall all be with the Queen while she does the first of her visits.”

Charline was too tired to feel even a stir of excitement at having a morning alone with Athos. She was barely managing to keep her head up after a long day of riding, and no opportunity to regain the sleep she had voluntarily lost from the night before. 

She came to with a jolt when her elbow slipped off the table, causing her to drop her spoon into her dinner, and startling the others. Embarrassed, she quickly ate the rest of her food in rapid bites, then excused herself to go and find their lodgings for the week.

It was to her immense relief that she found that they had been given three rooms between them within the house, and she immediately claimed the smallest for herself and went to retrieve her belongings, locking the door on her return in case any of the others should come in behind her. She undressed tiredly, sighing with relief when the bandages came off for the first time in a day and a half. She pulled out a clean shirt, slipping it over her head before climbing under the sheets on the bed and falling almost instantly asleep.

Her work of the night before soon proved to be worth it when she found herself dreaming of Athos’ warmth and the sounds of his imagined presence at her side.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training was a regular feature of her days for the next week, in between accompanying the Queen around the area as she sweetly and kindly made her offerings. The training had been expected, but all three of her musketeers seemed to be taking it very seriously. Presumably the thought of this unknown threat back in Paris had them concerned for her safety.

The possible identity of the threat kept them conversing at nights. Athos kept very quiet during these conversations while Aramis and Porthos made increasingly ridiculous suggestions about who it could be, but she could see in his eyes that he was haunted by the thought of it, which led her to a very obvious conclusion.

“Athos?” 

She followed him out of their dining room after he made his excuses to go to bed on their last night there. He stopped instantly, turning to face her and waiting for her to catch him up.

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

He nodded.

“The woman, that you saw, you know, the day of the court case with Ninon,” she swallowed. “Who was she?”

He looked at her sadly for a moment, apparently weighing up whether to be entirely honest with her or not. Eventually he sighed and gave her the answer she had dreaded.

“It was the same woman who you saved me from all those months ago. I had hoped she had left Paris, but apparently she is still very much in presence there.”

“And do you think-?”

“That she is the one who let Labarge loose to kill you?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I have reason to believe she is associated with the cardinal, which would give her a reason to be there. And you and I both know the extent of her hatred for me, so we cannot doubt the actions she would take.”

He began climbing the stairs to their rooms, and she followed quickly.

“But, why kill me?” 

He glanced sideways at her. “It is a long time since someone came into my life and made me care about them d’Artagnan. If she has been watching me, then it is no surprise that she made you a target. I am sorry that I have endangered you by offering you friendship.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at her in surprise when she snorted in response. “Sorry, but I remember saying something similar to you recently. And when are we not in danger?”

He smiled back at her, then led her down a corridor towards the wing which housed their rooms.

“Indeed. Still, I will do everything I can to put right what I should have done properly all those years ago.”

His voice increased in anger as he spoke, and she found herself stopping him with a hand on his arm. 

“Don’t you think the others...”

“I will tell the others when we return to Paris, don’t worry. We will need to address this, soon.”

She could see the sadness he was trying to hide as he tried to reassure her. It broke her heart to know that he blamed himself for everything, and that she could do nothing to persuade him he was not to blame. She knew enough of him to realise that he would continue to blame himself until it was over, and even then he would probably continue to do so.

She said nothing else about it, but dropped her hand from his arm, smiling sadly at him.

“Goodnight d’Artagnan. We leave early tomorrow, so get some rest.” He glanced at the fading bruises that still discoloured her neck before he turned away from her and went to his room.

She turned away also, continuing on to her own room, and hoping as she went that she would not be haunted by that look in his eyes as she tried to get some much needed sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The spot the Queen selected for their final camp before returning to Paris was an area of peace and beauty. There was a clear pool at the bottom of the rocky hills they camped on, which was often bathed in the sunlight that shone through the trees that protected them from prying eyes. The Queen evidently felt safe here, and her guards began to relax as she made few demands of them.

Porthos and Athos were putting d’Artagnan through her paces, challenging her to fight them both at the same time, while Aramis was cleaning his pistol nearby, staring dreamily at the sky and whistling back to the birds. 

It was exhilarating, fighting them both at once, although she was nowhere close to beating them. In fact they were teasing her easily about her lack of hits, goading her into fighting back more fiercely every time. She was hot and sweaty, but she put it out of her mind as she felt her stubborn side take over, refusing to be beaten completely.

After almost an hour Athos called time on her training. All three of them collapsed to the ground, panting and red in the face after an hour’s exercise in the late afternoon sun.

“Aramis, is the Queen back from her swim yet?” Porthos called over to the musketeer, who from his place leaning against a tree could see the comings and goings from the royal tent.

“Yes, she’s inside,” he called back lazily. His weapons were clean and he now lay against the tree, his hat tilted down to hide his face from the sun. Perhaps not his best attempt at being a lookout...

“Good.”

Porthos suddenly stood and toed off his boots before peeling off his jacket and shirt, eventually standing before them in just his trousers. He grinned at them briefly, before scrambling down the hill before them. Seconds later they heard him plunging into the pool below.

Charline was unfazed by the sight of Porthos in just his trousers; she had seen all of him and Aramis in various states of undress on several occasions over the last few months. Both of them were fond of stripping of their shirts when they were sparring with each other, ever since Aramis had accidently ripped Porthos’ favourite shirt and both of them had gone home with black eyes.

What made her tense up and start frantically trying to fight off a heated blush was when Athos stood up a moment later and did exactly the same thing.

She almost managed to casually avert her eyes as he reached up and pulled his shirt over his head and off; but he was not one for stripping off normally, so who could blame her really for taking a little peek while he couldn’t see her?

When he grinned at her apologetically and then hurried after Porthos, she was left with an imprint seared on her vision of a lean, pale torso dotted with various scars, but still beautiful. She also started to panic about what she would do when they appeared back up the hill and were dripping from their dip in the pool, trousers saturated and stuck to their legs...

Oh dear.

“You going to join them sweetheart?” 

She looked over to where Aramis was still lounging against his tree, but he had turned his head and lifted his hat a little so that he could leer at her, grinning. She forced herself to relax and the blush faded from her skin.

Then she threw the biggest stick she could find at him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She found time to swim later, a chance to clean up and bathe, once everyone had been fed and the Queen had retired to her tent. It was still early and the sun had not completely faded, so she instructed Aramis to call on her if the Queen should emerge, raising an eyebrow pointedly at him when he questioned why he had to be on lookout, then carefully made her way down to the pool.

It never occurred to her to instruct them to give her privacy, she trusted hem implicitly and knew that they would make sure the Queen didn’t find out her secret. So she felt quite comfortable stripping off her clothes, including the dreaded bindings, and plunging into the pool in the semi darkness.

It felt wonderful. She would always be grateful that the Queen had chosen this spot for these few days. The thought of being stuck in the summer heat with nowhere to bathe that would allow her to keep her secret had been niggling at her, although had been superseded by worrying over Athos’ increasing guilt. That the Queen would want somewhere that she herself could swim had not crossed her mind.

The pool was shadowed under the trees, so what sunlight was left was almost trapped above her. There were low trees that nearly skimmed the surface of the pool around the northern edge, and it was here she stayed and relaxed after swimming for a long time. She hooked her arms over a branch, her weight making it bob gently in and out of the water. Secure over her branch, she let the cool water and the gentle rocking of her position take over her and she closed her eyes for a few moments.

“D’Artagnan!” 

Her eyes snapped open. It was pitch black.

“D’Artagnan!” The voice was hissing her name frantically, and nearby.

Shit. She must have fallen asleep.

“I’m here Athos, I’m fine.” She moved a little in the water, letting him know where she was with the sound.

She heard him let out a rather growly breath behind her, somewhere amongst the trees.

“What the hell are you doing? Get out and get back to camp.”

Oh great. She had pissed him off, again. “My clothes are, um, over the other side, so I-”

“No they’re not. I’ll leave them here, now hurry up.”

She heard a light thump as her belongings were dropped to the ground, then the angry sound of his footsteps making their way back round the pool. She scrambled out of the water, which was quickly becoming freezing, and fumbled around in the dark until she found her clothes. She pulled them on haphazardly, stuffing the bandages in the pocket of her jacket as she pulled it on. It would have to be enough to disguise her for the moment.

She made her way back round the edge of the pool, feeling her way with her still bare feet until the trees cleared a little and the moon lit her way.

It was lighting her way to Athos, who was standing at the bottom of the hill they had used to get to the pool, with his arms folded and looking entirely too furious for this to end well.


	13. Chapter 13

He looked achingly handsome in the moonlight as he stood in front of her. She tried to ignore it as she offered him an explanation.

“I fell asleep.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, the other still managing to frown somehow. “You fell asleep? In the water?”

She shrugged one shoulder, a little sheepishly. “I was, um, dangling over a branch.”

He bowed his head for a moment, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. She squirmed a little as she watched him trying to rein in his instinct to shout at her. She was more than aware that what she had done had been foolish, for many reasons, but she was also becoming more and more aware of the fact that her trousers were stuck tightly to her legs, and she began to wish that she had taken a minute to put her bandages back on.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Have you any idea-, no, of course you don’t,” he looked at her with a sigh. “D’Artagnan, why must you insist on being so thoughtless all the time?”

She gaped at his accusatory words. “Thoughtless? I’m never thoughtless!”

“You just fell asleep in the dark in the middle of nowhere, without your ‘Charles’ disguise, and with someone out to kill you!” He hissed at her, fury at full throttle.

Ah. That kind of thoughtless. 

As usual, she responded with anger of her own.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep Athos, I would never be that stupid!”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

She recoiled a little as he looked at her with all the coldness she had been slowly melting away over the last couple of weeks.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

He sighed, but no warmth crept into his face. “I think we need to readdress the situation when we return to Paris.”

“What situation?” She knew fine well what he meant, but he was going to make him say it to her. He claimed to care for her, so let him be brave enough to break her heart to her face.

“Allowing you to remain with the musketeers.”

It hurt as much as she thought it would and she found herself almost shouting at him. “Just because I fell asleep?!?”

“No, d’Artagnan, because I cannot trust you to have the sense to keep yourself safe when I am not there to do it for you!” He shouted back.

“Could you be any more patronising Athos? You would never have thrown Charles out for falling asleep, you would never have pushed Charles away just because he was in danger!”

“Charles was not holding a secret that could see us all hanged!”

They both fell silent for a moment, realising that their voices had gotten too loud.

“You are careless d’Artagnan. It is dangerous, for everyone.”

She couldn’t believe he was using this one incident, one tiny thing, as a way of pushing her away.

“Well, I am happy for you Athos,” she hissed at him. “You’ve been looking for a way of getting rid of me, and now you’ve found one.”

She moved past him, startled when a warm hand caught her own and pulled her to a stop. She wouldn’t turn and face him though.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

“No Athos, what’s not fair is that you are going to send me back to Gascony for doing nothing.”

“I never said I was going to send you back.”

She turned slowly to face him, very much aware that he was still holding onto her hand.

“I would never just send you away, not with a threat hanging over you as well as us,” he explained. “It is my duty to see that you are safe, as with any other citizen of Paris.”

She flinched and pulled her hand out from his grip.

“Any other citizen Athos? So, what? You set me up in a little safe hideaway somewhere, where I get on with my life as Charline, waiting for you to take care of the danger and hoping that you might come to see me, but knowing the most I can expect is a note to tell me that it’s over and I am free to live my life?” 

Her eyes were filling up rapidly with tears. Would this man ever stop making her cry? She pulled her jacket tightly around her as she began to shiver, but she did not pull her gaze away from his. She was afraid she may have said too much, but damn him and his emotional barriers. If she was to be sent away, then she would go after he had seen how much he had hurt her.

Unfortunately, being Athos, he was just as stubborn as she was and he refused to back down, leaving them staring at each other for several minutes in hurt or angry silence.

“Are we to assume from the argument that you found her safe and sound Athos?” Aramis’ voice drifted down to them from above. Neither answered, but they heard him chuckling a moment later.

Athos was the first to break eye contact. “Go and get dry by the fire d’Artagnan. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“You want me gone Athos,” she said sadly. “There’s not really much else to say, is there?”

She turned away and slowly made her way back up the rocks to the camp they had made. She stumbled a few times, finding it difficult to see through her tears. Athos made no move to follow her.

When she stepped into the clearing at the top she was met by both Porthos and Aramis, looking at her sternly. One look at her miserable face was enough to stop them from rebuking her for her careless actions, however. Without speaking, Porthos wrapped his arm around her and led her to the fire, while Aramis started making his way down the rocks to Athos.

She was pushed gently down onto a convenient log, then left for a few moments before a blanket was wrapped around her, followed by a strong arm as Porthos sat next to her. He began to rub her arm soothingly.

“What happened d’Art?”

“I fell asleep. We argued about it. He wants me to leave when we get back,” she sniffled.

The arm around her shoulders tightened for a moment. “He’s angry, and he’s a stubborn bugger. We’ll sort it, don’t worry.”

She sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “He’s right though, isn’t he? I am careless.”

“And headstrong, and stubborn.”

“Thanks,” she smiled weakly into the fire.

“You do realise why he’s angry though? Have we not been here before?”

“I know.”

Porthos said it again anyway. “It’s because he cares, that’s all.”

“But not enough Porthos, not enough,” she whispered drowsily, the warmth of the fire reminding her why she had fallen asleep in the first place.

He said nothing for a few moments.

“Come on sweetheart.”

Suddenly his strong arm was under her legs and he lifted her off the log. He sat down on the ground in front of it, sitting her next to him so they could lean against it. He pulled her round so that she was curled completely against his side and rubbed his hand on her back. She looked up at him gratefully, this big brother of hers that she loved so much. She quickly reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks Porthos.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Angry, whispered voices intruded in her head. She realised quickly that she had fallen asleep, and that at some point she had been wrapped completely in the blanket and lain on the ground with the log at her back and the fire in front of her. She didn’t move, but listened carefully to the voices that were coming from nearby.

“You have to stop flying off the handle!”

“You do realise what could have happened to her?”

“Yes, and so does she.”

“And yet she keeps doing these careless things.”

“I hardly think falling asleep is the crime of the century Athos.”

“No, but if someone else had found her? If one of the Queen’s maids had seen her?”

She heard Porthos snort. “How on earth would they have if we were keeping an eye on the tent?”

“How on earth can a person fall asleep in a lake, hanging over a branch? She has a way of making strange things happen.”

“You would really send her away?”

Now Athos sighed. “We have to. If anyone finds out it is a danger to all of us. And we need to find this woman who tried to kill her already.”

“Bullshit.”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t give a damn that we could be in trouble for her pretending to be male, any more than we do.”

“Aramis is right. What you care about is that she could be hurt for it.”

Her breath hitched in her throat as Athos made no move to deny their accusations.

“And as for this woman, she’ll be far safer with us.”

“And she has as much right to be part of this than anyone.”

There was silence for a few moments and Charline froze in her blanketed bundle, hoping none of them were looking at her.

“I’ll go and get some firewood.”

Athos voice was tense, as were his footsteps as he walked away.

“Do you think he knows? Is that why he’s pushing her away?”

“I’m not even sure if she knows, Porthos. Did she say anything to you last night?”

“No. And him?”

“Nothing. I mostly just watched him pacing and muttering to himself.”

What on earth were they talking about? Know what? What was she supposed to know? Her stubbornness wouldn’t let her wait any longer.

She wrestled quickly with the blankets that surrounded her, startling both of the musketeers as she threw off her constraints and climbed to her feet. They were sitting a little way to the side, in a place where they had a perfect view of both the tent and her. Too late she remembered that she wasn’t constrained by her bandages and she quickly grabbed her jacket and held it tightly around herself.

“And just what exactly am I supposed to know?”

They gaped at her for a moment, before Aramis grinned at her. He looked at Porthos, who shrugged.

“Well since you ask, we were wondering if he, or you for that matter, were aware of the fact that you are in love with him.”

Her thoughts froze for what seemed an age as she gaped at them. Aramis was still grinning, while Porthos looked at her in sympathy. She didn’t know what was worse.

Actually, the sympathy was worse.

She snapped back to her senses and advanced on the two of them, using the only defence she could think of in the situation; deny and attack.

“Of all the stupid, ridiculous...how can you possibly think that?” she growled at them. “As if I would ever think- you are my brothers, all of you. That would just be- It’s not true, got it?”

_Brilliant stuff Charline_ , she thought to herself. _Turn into an ineloquent mess, that’ll convince them you are in control of your feelings._

Attack time.

“You say that again, even hint at it, and you will regret it, understand?” She pointed an accusing finger at each of them in turn.

They nodded, both of them now smiling slightly. She just rolled her eyes and flounced away.

“I’m going to get dressed properly, try not to panic if I’m not back quick enough for you ladies.”

And now she had reminded them of her stupid actions from the night before. This was shaping up to be great day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In fact the rest of the day offered up no more trauma. She spoke to no one all day, earning her some rolled eyes from Aramis and Porthos after they had stopped trying to talk to her, and a few puzzled looks from Athos when she ignored their attempts. He didn’t try to speak to her at all.

Porthos tried to get her to train with him, but she just shook her head stubbornly and covered her face with her hat, lying to the side of their camp and listening to the clash of swords when Aramis took up his offer in her stead.

She couldn’t believe they had suggested she was in love with Athos. She had been so careful! 

Mind you, Constance had worked it out pretty quickly after realising she was a girl, hadn’t she?

Charline blushed under the safety of her hat. That was all she needed, the two of them suspecting the truth and either making her life hell teasing her about it, or, even worse, trying to help her! She shuddered. Athos could never know how she felt. He obviously had no inkling at all, whatever Porthos thought.

He was pushing her away because she was a woman, and she had proven to him yet again that women could not be fully trusted. She cursed herself for her stupidity, and him for his overreaction. 

There was no way in hell she was going to get sent away – he had a real fight on his hands if he thought she was going anywhere that easily.

She lay there for hours: thinking over the previous week and how happy she had been, overanalysing everything that Athos had said and done since he found out the truth, dreaming about what life could possibly become if he allowed himself to even consider letting a woman back into his life, and choosing it to be her.

She hid all her emotions of the day under the mask of her hat, and they allowed her to while they took care of the small duties the Queen required of them, assuming that she was sulking. They were partially right.

Night had fallen some hours before and it was her turn to take watch over the royal tent. She moved silently over to where Athos was sitting, currently on watch and sat down beside him. She didn’t look at him. Her presence would have to be enough to tell her that he could go and rest.

She felt him look at her for a while before he rose to his feet with a sound that fell somewhere between frustration and sadness. He walked away, but her breath quickened along with her heartbeat when his footsteps paused and he started coming back to her.

“D’Artagnan?”

She didn’t reply.

“I apologise if I hurt you with my words yesterday. I was angry, and worried, and I was much harsher than I intended to be. I meant what I said, that we would think about it when we reached Paris, but there is no foregone conclusion here. You will be part of the discussion, alright?”

She inclined her head very slightly, still not looking at him.

“Don’t think that I do not care d’Artagnan,” he almost whispered the last before he finally walked away. She bowed her head for a moment, taking a shaky breath as she tried to get her emotions under control.

She had meant what she said to Porthos though. She knew that he cared, and that was why he got so angry at her. But he didn’t care enough, not to make her happy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day she spoke to them all as normal, having decided during her watch duty that sulking like a little girl was possibly not in her best interests in persuading Athos that any faith he had had in her had not been misplaced. She was back to her usual self, giving as good as she got with Aramis and Porthos, and training with Athos once again when he finally offered.

She was determined to enjoy these last days before the difficult conversation she knew lay ahead of her when they returned.

The only person who wasn’t quite so happy was Aramis. Currently, he was aiming his pistol at a tree filled with songbirds, complaining about the noise they were making.

“I thought this was paradise?” asked Athos, dryly. He was stretched out on his side on the ground in front of Charline. He turned and smiled his crooked grin at her when Aramis complained that his likening of the place to heaven had been three days previously. 

Charline found herself staring at the back of Athos’ head after he turned away from her. That smile, yet again taking her breath away. She really needed to get over it.

Her breath caught again a second later when a gunshot made her jump and Athos shouted despairingly at Aramis.

All three of them stared at him when he replied, suddenly pale, that he had not actually fired. They froze as a group for a millisecond before springing into action.

“The Queen,” someone shouted, and then they were scrambling in all directions. She grabbed her pistol from where it lay at her side while Aramis stuck his head over the edge of the rocks. She heard him curse and then suddenly all four of them were climbing down to the poolside, pistols ready.

She spotted quickly what had made Aramis exclaim as the body of the Queen lay on the ground, blood pooling in her back and soaking through the gown. Reaching her side, d’Artagnan, Porthos and Athos scanned the trees around them for the culprit, while Aramis turned over the body and sighed. A glance down showed d’Artagnan that the young maid, Clarice, was the one who had been killed.

Suddenly, Porthos and Aramis were running up the hill to the Queen, who emerged from her tent looking distraught as she saw the body.

“D’Artagnan!” Athos’ shout was enough to tell her what she needed to do. She followed him without question, up to where Porthos and Aramis had practically lifted the Queen bodily and were taking her towards their horses. She and Athos turned their backs to her, still scanning the trees.

“An assassin,” Athos announced.

Porthos and Aramis pulled the Queen out of sight, just as another shot ripped through the air. D’Artagnan found herself suddenly flat on her back Athos beside her, sheltering her as best as he could with his body.

“Can you see anything d’Artagnan?” he whispered to her, his face next her hers. She peered over the top of him quickly, then shook her head. “Then let’s move.”

He moved away from her, standing up and offering his hand to pull her up, just as another shot rang out from the trees at the other side of the pond.

She gasped as Athos suddenly collapsed on top of her.

“Athos?”


	14. Chapter 14

He was lying sprawled completely over her, his head flopped down next to hers, tucked into her shoulder. She couldn’t move.

“Athos?” she whispered, her voice raw with fear. 

“I’m alright,” he whispered back, so low she could barely hear it. She could have sobbed with relief.

“Don’t move,” he continued. His lips were brushing her neck as he spoke. She had to concentrate to hear him. “Let him think he got me. Is your pistol ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. He will move if he thinks the way is clear. When you see movement, tell me, shoot, and we’ll run.”

She waited for what seemed an age, peering over the top of Athos into the woods, her eyes mercifully shaded by her hat. He was heavy on top of her, but all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and hold him close to her. Her heartbeat had still not calmed after the awful eternal moment when she thought she had lost him, and she wasn’t sure it ever would.

She tried not to think about whether he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

Suddenly, a movement in the trees across from them caught her eye.

“There,” she whispered. “Ready?”

“When you are.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her pistol, firing quickly into the space she was sure the assassin was hiding. Before she could let her breath out again Athos was already on his feet, pulling her with him and the two of them rapidly made their way up the rest of the hillside and into the temporary safety of the woods.

She ducked behind a tree and leaned against it, her hands grasping her knees as she bent over and tried to catch her breath. Her legs were shaking and her head was pounding.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” Athos asked softly from the tree beside her.

She shook her head. “No,” she gasped. “I’m alright. You...scared me, that’s all.”

“Sorry about that,” she could hear the grin in his voice. “Worked though didn’t it?”

She lifted her head, a smile already on her face to return to him. It most certainly had worked, for all he had given her a heart attack when he’d slumped onto her, apparently dead.

Now she had another one when she looked at him and saw that half of his face was covered in blood.

“You said you were alright!”

He reached up and touched his bloodied cheek, pulling his hand away to look at it and shrugging. “I am. It just nicked the side of my head.”

“Just ‘nicked’ the side...?!” she broke off, a wave of nausea going through her, and put her hands back on her knees taking deep steady breaths.

Suddenly, he was in front of her with his hands on her shoulders, gently lifting her up until she was standing upright. He lifted her chin with one hand and made her look at him. 

“I’m fine. I promise, alright?”

She could do nothing but nod, although the amount of blood that was saturating his face still made her feel ill. 

“Come on d’Artagnan. We need to get the others and get the Queen out of here.”

He started to move away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” she said. “You’ll frighten the Queen looking like that.”

He quickly searched his pockets for a handkerchief, but came up with nothing. With a roll of her eyes she grabbed the hem of her shirt, ripping a section off. 

“Here,” she scrunched it up a little and leaned up to wipe the blood from his face. She avoided making eye contact but she could feel him staring at her while she worked quickly. 

She blushed a little as she finished, taking a slight step back from him.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “I needed a new shirt anyway. Here, take it and put pressure on the wound until Aramis can look at it.”

Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him and she pulled her hand back sharply, clearing her throat.

“This way.” In a flash he was gone; pushing his way through the trees and leading her to where she presumed he knew they would find the others. She stuck close to him, most definitely not enjoying the view as he pushed his way through. Honestly.

It took them less than a minute to find the others, the Queen already mounted in front of Aramis, Porthos holding the reins of the other three horses. 

“How many?” Porthos waited until d’Artagnan had mounted and then passed all the reins into her care.

“One I think.”

“Let’s go and check shall we?” Porthos grinned at Athos and the two of them plunged back into the trees.

“D’Artagnan? Are you alright?”

She turned to Aramis, who was staring at her in concern. The Queen was also looking at her strangely.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You look a little pale,” he said. “And there’s blood on your hands.”

“Oh. It’s not mine, it’s Athos’. He’s alright, we just, uh. We’ll explain later.”

He nodded in understanding. The Queen did not need to know of how close they had come.

“Are you alright your majesty?” d’Artagnan bowed a little from the waist as she asked, but the Queen had no time to respond as Athos and Porthos came crashing back through the trees.

“Time to ride!” Porthos shouted. D’Artagnan threw him and Athos their reins then followed Aramis, who had instantly moved off at Porthos’ shout.

As the four horses galloped through the woods d’Artagnan fell back a little and called to Porthos. “What’s wrong?”

“Not just an assassin,” he called back. “We need to lose them, quickly.”

They rode for what seemed like hours, cantering through the woods after the first initial burst of speed, trying to make sure their horses would last. They paused on a few occasions, d’Artagnan using her father’s looking glass to check their progression. At last she deemed that they had moved far enough ahead, and Athos ordered rest.

They stopped in a small copse and d’Artagnan quickly gathered the horses and led them to the stream that ran along the edge of it. She gave each of them a reassuring rub, apologising for not being able to relieve them of their saddles or any of their tack. Horses had always been her favourite animals on the farm, and they seemed to understand her too. She lost a few minutes with them, making sure they each bent their heads to drink. When she turned back to their copse she realised with a start that it was almost empty. Everyone but Athos had moved away.

“Where is everyone?” she asked. Athos was reloading all of the pistols, his hat and sword on the ground at his feet.

“Fish and wood,” he said. Answering her question in his usual taciturn manner of when he was busy.

“The Queen?” 

“Gone to help.”

“Oh.”

Silence stretched out until she realised something with a start. “Did Aramis look at that head wound? It needs treated.”

“Later.”

“But-”

“Later, d’Artagnan,” he looked up at her to soften the harshness of his reply. “Assist me.”

He held out a pistol to her and she moved to take it from him, taking care to sit near him where she could keep an eye on him and make sure no more blood started seeping from the wound she could now see above his ear.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes until footsteps put them on edge. Both of them raised a loaded pistol. It was just Porthos, however, returning with the Queen carrying bundles of sticks to start a fire. Aramis followed moments later with a brace of fish.

“I’d like to cook for you all, if you don’t mind. To thank you.”

The Queen smiled at them all sweetly as she spoke, and not one of them tried to turn her down.

They regretted it quite severely when they were trying to chew through charcoal in the shape of fish a short while later. It felt to d’Artaganan like trying to bite through and swallow a log, but she followed the example of the others and politely turned down the offer of more, with a gesture suggesting that she was full. While the others were trying to compliment what the Queen blithely announced was her first ever time of cooking, Charline put her plate round behind her and quietly tipped the content onto the ground. 

As she did so she was struck suddenly by a memory of doing the same thing when she was small, while her father was not so good yet at cooking, and she was too young to take over the role. She used to choke down as much as possible, before offering the plate under the table to the dog, who seemed to have no taste buds to speak of.

She didn’t have long to be melancholy, as Athos was suddenly on his feet. She caught on quickly when Aramis mounted his horse before Porthos handed the Queen up to him. D’Artagnan pulled her eyeglass from her belt once more, keeping it in hand so she could keep an eye on their hunters as they rode away at haste. 

It wasn’t long before they realised that they could not continue to outrun the pursuing men, with five people on four horses. Porthos demanded that they make a stand, but before an argument could break out Charline spotted the top of a building through the trees. A convent.

“Two of us shall wait there with the Queen, while the others ride on to Paris to bring back the regiment.” Athos seemed to be in two minds about who would follow each part of his instruction.

“Porthos and I will continue. You should remain with Aramis and go with the Queen.” It was the only logical plan, but he frowned at her as she suggested it. She rolled her eyes at him. Damn him and his chivalry, she was no mere girl and he knew it.

“I don’t like it; we won’t get back until tomorrow at least.” Porthos was frowning at her, but she believed that his concern was for the three being left behind, rather than keeping her safe, so he escaped her ire for now.

“We’d better hurry up then, come on!” With a kick to its flank, she moved her horse into a rapid canter, Porthos catching up with her after a couple of seconds.

They cantered in silence for a while, until Porthos suddenly began to chuckle beside her.

“What?”

“You really know how to piss him off, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked haughtily, but her heart sinking a little at the same time.

“You didn’t feel him glaring daggers at you as you rode off then? I thought he was going to explode when I glanced at him.”

She shrugged, a fake gesture of nonchalance. “Well, it was the only way we could go, wasn’t it?”

“And that was your decision to make, was it?” Porthos laughed again.

She sighed. She really needed to stop letting her temper get the better of her. Porthos was right; she hadn’t given Athos his place, and whether Charles or Charline she should be expecting to be in trouble for it. 

“Shit,” she muttered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone deal with being in love the way you do,” he glanced at her, a wicked grin on his face.

She blushed scarlet. “I told you that you were being ridiculous! I’m not more in love with Athos than, than you are!”

He pulled his horse to a stop, moving to the side of the road. She followed suit, dismounting when he did.

He gestured towards her flushed face. “The evidence most definitely suggests otherwise.” 

“Shut up,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Now what the hell are we doing?”

“We’re going to take a stand!”

“But...Paris! We need to go and get the others.”

 

Porthos grabbed hold of the reins of both their horses and started pulling them off the road. “Well, it’ll be easier to get there without being followed and killed, won’t it?”

“Athos will kill you,” she said, an eyebrow raised but a grin spreading across her face.

“Well, he’s only going to know if we lose, isn’t he?” he winked at her, and she moved to join him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they reached Paris some hours later, with new information and a new desperation to get back to the others, they were anxious to find the regiment were not there. The captain, on hearing the details, sent Porthos and d’Artagnan to investigate, while he went to the King.

With every moment that passed, and every new lead they found that led them somewhere else, Charline was beginning to panic more and more about having left the others behind, and showing no signs of heading back to them.

When she chased after the ghost of the woman smelling of Lavender, losing sight of the flash of colour she had seen as she reached the streets outside the dead man’s office, she was aware that her emotions were on their way to getting the better of her. She kicked a stone on the ground when she realised she was never going to catch up with her, cursing after the spectre, and cursing at pain now coursing through her foor.

“D’Artagnan?” Porthos appeared beside her, as calm as ever.

“I lost her,” she said quietly. “But she was definitely there, I swear it.”

“I believe you. Did you see her?”

She shook her head. “No, but I recognised the scent.”

“Come on, we need to get back to the barracks and wait for Treville,” Porthos suddenly appeared slightly anxious.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, let’s go.”

He started walking away, back to the barracks, but she caught up with him quickly and tried her best to match her stride to his long one.

“Porthos, don’t start turning into Athos now! What is it?” she demanded.

He sighed. “The woman. Can you think where you recognise the scent from?”

“No, not off the top of my head. But I definitely do, why?”

“I think there’s a good chance that this woman may also be the other woman, the one that we are trying to identify.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly, so perhaps it’s best that we get a move on and get back to the others as quickly as we can.”

They hurried on, relieved to find Treville back from informing the Cardinal of the attack, but disappointed again when he told them the regiment were hunting with the King, and it could be some time before they got the message he had sent.

“We need to do something, we have to go back!” d’Artagnan said forcefully.

“I am not suggesting we just sit and wait,” the captain replied, an eyebrow raised at her tone. “Any ideas? The two of you and me with an injured arm cannot be the best we have to offer.”

“I have an idea,” Porthos grinned.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Athos! Aramis!”

She waited with baited breath for one of them to answer the captain’s shout. 

“Down here,” Aramis called back. “We’re fine.”

She let out a sigh of relief, following the motley crew of stable-boys and messengers that they had assembled down to the floor of the cellar. She pushed her way through the group when they stopped, smiling to see Aramis and the Queen standing in front of her, a fierce looking nun smiling from behind them.

She faltered slightly. “Where’s Athos?”

Aramis opened his mouth to answer her, just as a gunshot reverberated around the corridors of the cellar, making them all jump and stopping her heart completely for a second.

“He went after Gallagher,” Aramis said quickly when the noise died down.

Without a thought, she turned and pushed her way through the group, running quickly down the tunnels as she frantically searched for him. Vaguely, she could hear footsteps following her. 

She stopped suddenly when she heard his voice speaking softly. She listened while he spoke to Gallagher, trying to reason with him, offering him a way not to die. She held her breath, still out of sight around the corner. Her pistol was ready, just in case.

Another shot rang out and she threw herself around the corner, her heart in her throat as she dreaded what she might see. 

Her knees gave way and she held onto the wall for support when she saw that Athos was fine, standing with his back to her in front of Gallagher, who was now on the ground. She was still standing there, stopping herself from running and throwing her arms around him in relief, when Porthos and Aramis arrived, having followed at a slower pace.

Aramis came to her and lifted her gently back to her feet, patting her on the head with a grin when he let her go. They both moved aside as the nun d’Artagnan had seen with Aramis came through, moving towards Gallagher to give him some comfort in his last moments.

“Come on, we’ll wait outside,” said Porthos, and he and Aramis turned and walked away.

She was going nowhere without Athos though, so she waited a moment, watching as the nun squeezed his arm before kneeling down. Athos stood there for a second longer, looking at Gallagher, before finally turning round and seeing that she was still there.

He walked over to her as she swallowed hard. Why did it feel like this, seeing him again? She had only been out of his company for less than two days, but it felt like a lifetime. She supposed that not knowing if he had been alive or dead for the duration of their separation probably had something to do with it.

Now he walked towards her, that breathtaking crooked smile on his face. She smiled back at him.

“You’re alive then,” she breathed when he stopped in front of her.

“You too,” he grinned at her. “Come on.” He took her by the elbow and led her out into the corridors. She counted the seconds until he let go of her. Seven.

As they walked back through the building she filled him in on what had happened in Paris, missing out the part where she and Porthos had gone against his orders and stopped to fight. He blanched at the idea of the German assassination attempt.

“It makes no sense.”

“No,” she said. “No, it goes much deeper than that. There was a woman Athos, a female assassin. Porthos thinks it may be the same woman who was in league with Labarge.”

He stopped as they entered an empty hallway, reaching out to pull her to a halt beside him. “And what do you think?”

“I think he’s right,” she said, hiding her excitement that he was specifically asking for her opinion. 

He was looking at her oddly, saying nothing but with a quiet sadness emanating from him. She said nothing and just let him look.

After a few seconds, he reached out slowly and rested one hand on the side of her face. She desperately wanted to lean into the touch, but she remained frozen. She had no idea what was about to happen, but she was definitely going to let it.

He paused like that for a few more seconds, saying nothing, and not moving. Eventually, his thumb gently stroked her cheekbone, just once. “I won’t let anything happen to you Charline. I promise.”

He leant forward and gently kissed her on the forehead, and her eyes immediately filled with tears as she sucked in a sudden breath. He let go of her and was gone in the next second, out of the room and into another hallway that led to the front door. 

She stood frozen to the spot, refusing to let her traitorous hand from getting its way and moving up to touch the spot where he had kissed her, like some damsel in distress. 

Instead she concentrated on fighting to get her breathing back in control, and frantically wipe at the tears that were just starting to spill down her face. 

“Get a grip d’Artagnan!” she whispered furiously at yourself. “It was a brotherly kiss for God’s sake. Enough.”

She couldn’t help but hope, though, that perhaps there had been something else in his eyes when he had looked at her, something else in the promise he had made. 

But no. She couldn’t afford to think like that. He thought of her as a sister, the same as the others.

“Enough, you foolish girl!” she whispered to herself once last time, tightening her fists and wiping her eyes with them. 

She straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and headed out to join her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos and comments! And for sticking with me...still loads to go I think!
> 
> B x


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!! I'm so sorry it took so long, I just couldn't seem to get happy with it at all. It's nice and long to make up for it though... ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos; they make writing chapters like this a little easier!
> 
> B xx

Aramis’ rooms were where they ended up. Athos had said no to Porthos’ suggestion of a tavern, and he seemed reluctant to go to his own rooms, so here they were.

When Charline had joined the others outside the convent Athos had just finished announcing who had hired Gallagher. Everyone had seemed momentarily stunned, but then Aramis had quietly asked if this was the same woman who Athos had seen at Ninon’s trial. He had only nodded a confirmation, but refused to say anymore until they were back in Paris.

D’Artagnan had watched him closely while they reunited the King and Queen. She could see how tense he was. She had said nothing while Porthos and Aramis had whispered angrily about the Cardinal and she had clapped slowly with the rest of them while they were expected to applaud Richelieu’s sterling work in apprehending the suspect. The whole time her eyes did not move from the side of Athos’ head. She watched the vein in his temple as it became more and more visible. She saw the clench of his jaw under his beard as he stayed stoically silent throughout.

The only time she lost sight of him was when they turned to leave the room and she realised he had not left with the rest of them. She realised that he had stayed behind to speak to the cardinal, so she hovered outside the room, waiting for him to emerge. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see her waiting for him. This was the only way to give him support that she could think of.

Now she was sitting on a chair near Aramis’ table, her back straight and her whole body tense. Athos had taken a seat at the table on entering the room, and she had sat as close to him as she could. Porthos and Aramis were both lounging on the bed, their backs against the wall as they sat next to each other, looking expectantly at Athos.

He wasn’t looking back at them. Instead his head was low, his hands clasped tightly and his elbows tensely resting on his thighs. D’Artagnan couldn’t reach out and offer him comfort, and it was painful.

“Who is she Athos?”

Porthos eventually broke the silence, his voice gentle, when he realised that Athos was going to need some prodding to get started.

From her position Charline could see his face when he raised it to look at them, and she was horrified to see how dead his eyes had become. A lump appeared in her throat.

“I wasn’t lying when I said she was the most dangerous woman I had ever known,” he started speaking softly. She could hear no trace of emotion in his speech. “Nor was I lying when I called her a liar and a criminal at the trial. She now goes by the name of Milady Clarick de Winter. I knew her as Anne. The Comtesse de La Fere.”

“The Comtesse?” Porthos’ mouth was hanging open.

“You mean she...?” 

“Is my wife. Yes.”

There followed several moments of stunned silence. Athos was clearly waiting for them to react before he told the rest of his story.

“You said there was a woman, and she was dead. You said nothing about a wife, nothing.” 

Charline was alarmed to hear how tight Aramis’ voice was when he spoke. She glanced at him quickly, and saw that he was indeed holding in some anger. She saw Porthos reach a hand over and give his knee a squeeze before letting go. 

_Yes, please_ , she thought. _Please calm down._

“No, I didn’t say anything about a wife. But I told no lie when I said there was a woman, and that she was dead. I believed that she was.” Athos was still calm and unemotional. 

“I don’t really understand Athos,” Porthos shrugged slightly.

Athos sighed and bowed his head once again. “She was dead because I killed her.”

_No_ , she thought. _That’s not right. Keep going Athos, you are not a murderer._

She clenched her fists tightly. If he didn’t hurry up and explain then she was going to.

“You killed her?” asked Porthos.

Athos head rose up to look at them once more, but this time his eyes were haunted, and his voice betrayed his emotions when he whispered the truth. “I had her hanged. She’s a killer. She murdered my brother.”

Porthos swore. “Athos...”

“Don’t you see why I told you nothing? I executed my own wife, my _wife_. I also got my brother killed.”

“No you didn’t!” Charline could stay quiet no longer and Athos turned to look at her sadly. “She killed Thomas, not you. You cannot blame yourself for the rest of your life Athos; you have been trying to atone for loving someone for years!”

He just continued to look at her, saying nothing.

“I have never once thought you were to blame for what happened. I have tried for months to see why you do, but I can’t. You are not to blame for her.”

Suddenly Aramis was on his feet, and pointing a finger at her. “You knew about this too?”

Her eyes widened as she realised what she had said. Aramis looked furious. “Yes, I...I knew something about it. But only because-”

“What a secretive creature you are Athos,” Aramis interrupted her. “I have never pushed you, never, to tell me what happened to this lost love of yours. I have been there for you through all of this, through all of your bouts of depression, for each and every time that you got yourself so stupidly drunk that you could not even begin to remember where you live. I cannot believe that I have been your friend, your _brother_ , for so long, and you could not even bring yourself to tell me that you had a wife.”

Athos stood too, stepping forward with his hands held in front of him, ready to try and explain himself to Aramis; but he was stopped in his tracks by Porthos, who spoke from his place still on Aramis’ bed.

“That’s not what you’re angry about Aramis. Don’t castigate him for lying and hold back from the truth yourself.”

Everyone froze for a moment as they waited for Aramis to speak. Then Porthos shuffled forward to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Go on,” he encouraged him.

Aramis tightened his chin, lifting his head high before speaking to Athos, his voice seething in anger. “That is why you would have let Porthos die,” he said. “You would have let him die, rather than take him to your house to save his life, and all because you blame yourself for marrying someone who turned out to be what she is.”

Athos flinched as if he had been struck. Charline watched as he tightened and loosened his fists at his side a few times, swallowing hard. She wanted desperately to take away his pain.

“You are right,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Yet more harm that I am to blame for. I must...I cannot...” 

He looked Porthos firmly in the eye. “Forgive me.”

And he left.

“Athos!” d’Artagnan knocked herself out of her shocked stupor and ran to the door after he swept out of it. She watched in despair as he moved quickly down the stairs and out of her sight. A few seconds later she heard the door into the street close loudly.

Instantly she turned back into the room, striding towards Aramis. She ignored the ashen look on his face and launched into a full verbal assault.

“How could you? How could you try and make him feel worse? And you ask him why he never said anything before? I don’t believe you Aramis; you’re supposed to be his brother, his friend!”

“I never meant to...”

“No, you meant to show him that you were pissed off that he didn’t tell you first. Well you’ve managed that, and you’ve also managed to make him feel even worse than he did before. Do you not think that this has been eating him alive ever since?” She could practically feel steam coming out her ears.

Porthos sighed. “It really didn’t help, Aramis.”

Aramis rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. His face was still grey. “I know,” he slumped back down onto the bed. “I shouldn’t have...I just don’t understand why he didn’t say anything.”

“Because he’s ashamed! He’s ashamed that he brought that woman into his home, and into his family.”

Porthos moved to her and gently sat her down at the table. That was when she realised that she was crying, yet again. She wiped at the tears hastily while Porthos sat in the seat Athos had vacated.

“He has spent five years hating himself and blaming himself for everything bad that has happened, and you acted like a two-year-old because he didn’t tell you first.”

“I know, alright?” Aramis shouted back at her. “I get it, I was wrong and I acted poorly. It was unnecessary and I made it much worse than it needed to be. Happy?”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “Perhaps if you had let me finish explaining, you would not have felt so bad that I knew first, or felt the need to bring up the incident with Porthos to hurt him.”

Both of them were looking at her blankly.

“The only reason I know is because when I went back for him, when I saw that he was a wreck and he needed someone despite how little I knew him, and you decided to hold a grudge and leave him there in misery,” she said, her voice shaking. “When I went back she was there.”

Aramis gaped at her. “You met her?”

“No, I stopped her from killing him.”

He felt a little bit satisfied at the horror that crossed Aramis’ face. 

“The house was on fire and I fought my way through to him, thinking he had drunkenly dropped a candle, but she had done it. She tried to burn the house down with him inside. When I found him he was on the ground and I dragged him out. I saw her ride away, and that’s when he told me. She murdered his brother, she seduced the hangman and escaped, and she came back there to finish him. She was going to slit his throat and he would have let her do it. That is what he thinks of himself. He made me swear to tell you nothing, because he is ashamed and he is hurting and doesn‘t know how to deal with it, what with being a man and all.” She glared at both of them.

Aramis stood quickly, cursing loudly. He moved towards the door without hesitation, pausing only when d’Artagnan crossed the room and laid a hand on his arm. 

“Make it better Aramis, please.”

He looked at her, returning the hesitant smile she gave him with some relief. He stroked a hand down her arm and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the temple. “I will.” 

She smiled at him gently and he practically ran down the stairs, calling up to them to wait there for a while, they would hopefully be back.

She closed the door gently, and rested her head against it with a groan. 

“Please tell me you don’t hate him for what he did,” she said, not turning round to look at Porthos.

“I don’t,” was all he said.

She turned round and looked at him. He was smiling at her reassuringly.

“Come on. Aramis must have some wine around here somewhere!” Porthos winked at her and started searching the room in earnest. She returned his smile weakly and went to sit back in her chair. She watched as he searched, eventually shouting in triumph when he found an unopened bottle and some cups.

“Why do you really think Aramis reacted that way?” she asked after a while or playing with her cup and drinking nothing.

Porthos put down his drink. “Because he is hurt, and he is hot-headed, and because he doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions either.”

“I know that Athos didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he was trying to keep your friendship I think.”

Porthos nodded and drained his cup. “I agree. But that is why Aramis is hurting, to think that Athos assumed that we would no longer be there for him, that we would judge him because of his past.”

She thought over his words for a while, realising that she agreed with him. Her anger at Aramis had been a defensive reaction for Athos, but she could understand why he had been hurt; although perhaps not why he had felt the need to make things worse by adding to Athos’ distress.

“They’re both a pair of idiots, aren’t they?” she asked.

Porthos snorted. “Absolutely.” 

He raised his now full cup to hers and she met it in a toast before finally taking a drink.

“Is she the one that sent Labarge after you?” he asked, frowning.

“I think so. We think so.”

“Even better,” he said dryly. She chuckled darkly in agreement.

“Do we really just sit here and wait?” she was agitated, and concerned that things could be getting even worse without her there to supervise.

“Yeah. They’ll sort it out.”

She looked at him, and she believed him.

“Some cards to pass the time?” he asked.

“Why not? But I am not playing you for money, absolutely not!”

He looked affronted by her refusal, but soon was grinning at her when her raised eyebrow was obviously going nowhere.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

D’Artagnan’s mind was a whirl of lavender, but there was something else...another scent...was it jasmine?

She could taste them in the air around her as she made her way through the streets of Paris. It was dark, and quiet. She had been wandering, searching, for hours and she had met no one. She was beginning to panic and the smells in the air were getting stronger, threatening to choke her if they continued much longer.

She turned down one alley and then the next, unable to run although she wanted desperately to.

She needed to find him. She could sense the danger that was around her; that was following him while she tried desperately to search for him in this eerily empty city.

The lavender filled her nostrils and the jasmine caught in her throat. She was forced to stop as she entered another alley, coughing as she tried to dispel the overwhelming scents from her lungs. 

Suddenly she realised that although they choked her and filled her nose, she could actually smell nothing. She was just horribly aware of their presence.

“Are you looking for me, darling boy?”

A hand wrapped round her throat from behind, squeezing lightly and choking her further. She felt the cold metal pressed against her neck and the voice came closer, whispering right into her ear.

“Or were you looking for him?”

Her head was pushed down and suddenly Athos was lying on the ground in front of her, a terrifying pool around him, made from the dark liquid seeping out from a hideous wound in his neck.

She sobbed as she fought against the strong hand that held her in place. She could do nothing to get free from its grip, and she watched as Athos panicked and choked in front of her.

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with fear, while he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his open neck.

She screamed as his hands fell to his sides, and he stopped moving.

A pair of dark eyes with a reflection of a blue flower swam before her vision before she forced her eyes open, and realised that she was still screaming. 

In Aramis’ bed. 

With a highly concerned Porthos shaking her by the shoulders, and Aramis hovering behind him.

“Oh, did ...I?” she pulled herself to a sitting position, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Do you have nightmares often?” Aramis asked.

She shook her head, looking neither of them in the eye. She wasn’t being entirely untruthful – this was a new one after all.

“When did you reappear?” she asked Aramis.

“A while ago. We let you sleep. We had things to talk about,” Aramis answered.

“Where’s Athos? Did you speak to him?”

“Yes,” Aramis sighed. “We spoke, and I apologised. He wouldn’t hear of it, he drank and eventually he made me leave.”

She stood up. “You left him?!”

“He’ll be fine d’Artagnan,” Porthos pointed out. “He’s had nights like this plenty of times, we’ve seen it before.”

She couldn’t believe it. She supposed this was the male way of dealing with uncomfortable issues – leave it till morning, and pretend it didn’t happen.

“How long has he been alone?” she glared at them and they looked at each other and shrugged.

“An hour? Two?” 

She groaned and started rushing around the room, picking up her discarded jacket, hopping as she pulled on one boot and then the other.

“He won’t thank you for going round there,” said Aramis quietly. “He asked to be alone, and I respected his wishes.”

“You respected those wishes because you didn’t want to be there either. Why can’t men just talk like normal people?!” she grabbed her pistol and her sword. “You didn’t see him the night after the fire. I was the one that was there for that one, and if tonight’s anything like it then alone is the last thing he needs. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Her dismissal left no room for either of them to follow her.

She let Aramis’ door fall shut behind her as she ran down the stairs and out into the street, muttering the whole time about men, their idiocy, and their lack of emotional understanding.

She ran the whole way to his rooms, panicking with every step about the amount of time he had been left alone. He wouldn’t care if he hurt himself, if he made himself ill and choked to death. 

But she did.

She banged loudly on his door, uncaring for the hour and any sleeping neighbours, when she reached it. Her reply was a grunted something that sounded vaguely like ‘go away’ from inside.

“Athos, open this door and let me in!”

Nothing.

“I’ll break it down Athos, I swear. Let me in.”

She couldn’t even hear him moving around.

“Fine,” she said to herself. “Broken door it is.”

She took several steps back, wincing at the solid look of the door. This was going to hurt like hell.

She was right. 

The jolt to her shoulder reverberated around her entire body, making her hiss with pain. The door hadn’t moved. She backed up again, bracing herself for another run, but the door opened softly and was left slightly ajar. She approached it cautiously, worried about what she was going to find inside. She reached out and slowly pushed it open, looking around to see where he had slouched back to. He was standing with his back to her, leaning over his table as he poured another drink. She slipped inside and closed the door.

“Athos-”

“I asked to be left alone,” he interrupted her.

“You didn’t ask me anything,” she pointed out.

He sighed and moved away from the table, heading towards his bed. He was barefoot, she noticed, his boots abandoned in a heap on the floor, his shirt untucked and his jacket and uniform slung over the back of a chair. He still didn’t look at her.

“Leave me alone d’Artagnan, just go home,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup of wine firmly in his hand.

“I won’t,” she crossed her arms stubbornly, still standing with her back to his door.

Finally he looked at her, and she saw that his eyes were red, and slightly unfocused. The room smelled of wine and there were two empty bottles on the table.

“What do you want from me d’Artagnan?” he asked, exasperated. “You don’t think I’ve talked enough for one night? You want to come along and see if there’s anything else you can get out of me?”

His words stung her. “That’s not fair,” she said quietly.

“No?”

“No.”

He emptied his cup of wine and watched her warily as she moved further into the room. She was starting to get the feeling that Aramis and Porthos may have been right. This could go very, very wrong.

“Well?” he grumbled.

Apparently she had been staring at him in silence for a little bit too long.

“I just...I needed to check that you were alright,” she shrugged helplessly, struggling to find something to say, and fighting the urge to say what she knew she couldn’t.

“As you can see I am still in one piece,” he opened his arms out and gestured to himself, spilling some wine as he did so.

“Yes, you look in fantastic shape,” she snapped.

His eyes narrowed at her tone and he stood up and walked over to her.

“I have asked you to leave d’Artagnan, and I would suggest you do so right now, before one of us says something they regret.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you are clearly not alright,” she said. “Have you forgotten that I witnessed the fallout the last time she entered your life?”

He laughed. “You actually think you get it, don’t you? You think you understand what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and you think that you being here is going to help make it better.”

She swallowed. She had a horrible feeling that he was going to say something awful in his effort to try and get rid of her. 

“You can’t make it better d’Artagnan,” he loomed over her. “I don’t need anyone to make it better. I will deal with this, my way, without any interference from anyone, and without you hanging around like I can’t cope without you. You think I need you. I don’t. I don’t need you here, and I don’t want you here.”

That wasn’t too bad. 

“You think that drinking yourself into a stupor is the way to make this better?”

“It’s worked rather well for me so far,” he said before pointedly draining the cup he still held. He walked away from her and moved to refill it.

“And what would happen if she made her move while you were too blind drunk to defend yourself?” 

He turned back to face her and shrugged. “Then she wins.”

“And what if it’s not you?” she cried, exasperated.

“What do you mean?” he looked genuinely puzzled.

“You’re not the only one she’d tried to kill, remember. What if she tries to kill me again, or goes for Porthos and Aramis? You know she is watching, you know she has taken an interest in me. She could easily have taken the same notice of them.”

“Then it’ll be my fault and I will add it to my long list, d’Artagnan,” he shouted.

“No!” she shouted back. “It will not be your fault, unless you are unable to help because you are sulking in here, hiding away from us.”

She bowed her head and took a deep breath. She hadn’t come here to argue with him. She had known that he would try his best to push her away, and she had known that he would be able to do nothing but blame himself for every part of what was happening.

“Athos, please,” she said softly, lifting her head to look at him. “We need you, I need you.”

“Leave me alone d’Artagnan,” he was almost pleading with her.

“You made me a promise. All that has changed since then is you having to share your story with the others. Have you forgotten it so easily?”

He looked at her then for a long moment, a myriad of emotions on display but moving too quickly for her to see most of them. He stepped towards her and stopped in front of her. She stood frozen while he reached over with one hand and pulled the hat from her head, while his other arm drew her too him and wrapped around her. Suddenly she was pressed against him, her head tucked comfortably on his shoulder as he hugged her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over. She could hear the catch in his voice and she felt the crushing blow of guilt of her own as she realised she had pushed him almost to tears.

She wrapped her arms around his back and held onto him tightly, moving her head so that her face lay in the join between his shoulder and his neck. She wanted desperately to kiss the bare skin that rested against her mouth.

They stayed that was for several minutes, his apologies trailing off and being replaced with steady breaths. She kept her own breathing steady, at war with the thunderous beating of her heart. She could stay like this forever and be perfectly happy.

Eventually, though, he pulled away, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Go home, d’Artagnan,” he said softly. She opened her mouth to protest, but he interrupted her. “I need to be alone for now, but I will see you tomorrow.”

She tried one last tactic. “Is it safe?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “A tad below the belt perhaps?” he asked dryly as she blushed. “You’ll be fine. She will have a greater plan than just snatching you off the street, don’t worry.”

“But-”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

She sighed in defeat. There was a possibility that he may be better now than if she hadn’t come anyway. Her reason was simply now that she didn’t want to go.

She smiled weakly at him. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. She avoided his gaze as she scurried out of the room, her heart pounding. She closed his door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. She had just kissed him! What was she _thinking_? 

She closed her eyes in mortification, but opened them almost immediately as she heard through the door the unmistakable sound of him pouring himself another drink.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos!! I have a feeling I may be at this for a while, and you are truly keeping me going. 
> 
> :)
> 
> B xx

It was almost dawn by the time Charline finally closed her eyes in sleep. The hour had been late when she finally arrived home, but sleep was still a long time coming. The events of the day, or days, before were weighing heavily on her, and she had sent herself into a new level of dread with the memory of that kiss.

Was she now imagining things with the look of horror she had seen on his face? Or was it the look of anger she sometimes saw when she pictured the moment? Perhaps neither. Was it her kiss that had led him to drinking more after she left? Maybe the thought of another woman causing him hassle had pushed him over the edge. Maybe he just didn’t appreciate being touched uninvited.

Maybe he had just looked on it as a brotherly kiss in answer to the one he had placed on her forehead yesterday morning, which she could still feel burning on her skin.

Or maybe he had realised with that movement how she truly felt, and the thought of it had indeed horrified him.

All of these question and more made her toss and turn in her bed for hours, quietly thanking the powers above that Constance and her husband were not home to be disturbed by her. Her eyes remained blessedly dry – she couldn’t help but feel that the events of these last weeks had turned her into some sort of overly-feminine emotional wreck. She really wasn’t used to it, but then she had never been in love before, not properly.

Her feet felt like lead as she walked her way to the barracks in the morning. She was absolutely dreading what she might find when she looked at Athos, not least because she had left in defeat when he had poured another drink the night before, and didn’t know how bad it had truly gotten.

A group of musketeers were leaving the yard as she entered it, obviously on their way to their first duty of the day. They called a greeting to her as they passed, but she could only manage a weak smile and a feeble wave as she passed them. A couple laughed, suggesting they thought that she had spent her evening looking at the bottom of a bottle, but she really didn’t care.

She spotted Aramis and Porthos straight away, getting in some sword practise while they waited for their duties to begin. She passed their table as she approached them, noticing that there was a bowlful of food waiting for her beside her normal seat.

“Morning,” she said softly as she arrived at Porthos’ side. They immediately stopped and put down their weapons.

“Morning. Everything alright?” Aramis asked. Porthos was looking at her carefully.

She shrugged and moved over to her breakfast, sitting down and pulling the bowl towards her. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “I thought so, so I left, but I heard him pouring another drink so I don’t know how bad it got. Have you seen him?”

“Briefly. He went straight to the captain’s office when he came in, hasn’t been back since.” Porthos glanced up at Treville’s office as he spoke before hooking a long leg over the bench and sitting at the table. 

Aramis slumped down next to him. “I’m sure it will be fine d’Art, he didn’t look half dead when he came in. That’s always a good sign with Athos!” he grinned at her.

She said nothing, but turned her attention to the bowl in front of her, playing with the contents without actually eating anything. She could feel Porthos and Aramis’ eyes on her as they continued their easy, quiet banter around her. She had nothing else to say to them though; she wasn’t about to tell them what was really playing on her mind.

A nudge to her foot was ignored, but the soft kick that hit her shins afterwards got her attention and she looked up to see Aramis looking at her innocently.

“Here he comes,” said Porthos, catching her attention. She looked up quickly and saw that Athos was indeed walking towards them from the bottom of the stairs.

He looked...fine. He didn’t look like he had spent the entire night drinking, although she knew he was good at hiding it. But he didn’t grab hold of the table with a shaking hand to hold onto it while he sat himself down, and he didn’t have grey bags under his eyes, or bleary eyes. 

The small smile he gave her in greeting as he sat next to her also told her that he wasn’t angry.

“I’ve told the captain everything,” he said once he was comfortable.

“Ah,” said Aramis. “And how did that go?”

“A lot easier than telling you I should imagine,” said Porthos wryly. For a moment Charline thought Aramis might even have blushed a little, and she was glad that Athos did not immediately tense up beside her.

“It was fine. He agrees that our focus for now needs to be on dealing with the Cardinal, and with Anne,” Athos managed not to flinch at the name. “We cannot sit here and wait for them to make their move. We know she is happy to get rid of me in some way, but she has also taken an interest in d’Artagnan, whether due to me or for her own sake we can’t tell. I refuse to sit and wait until something happens, or one of you goes missing.”

D’Artagnan paled as she remembered the horrible feeling of trying to find Athos in the dark streets of Paris in her dream, the dread of knowing he was missing and that his wife was stalking them in the darkness.

She sat up straight with a jolt. “Oh God.”

“What is it?” Athos turned to her sharply.

“D’Artagnan?” Porthos prodded.

She put her head in her hands with a groan. “I’m so stupid, so stupid.”

“D’Artagnan, none of need heart attacks this morning. Could you explain your stupidity please, before Athos has one?” Aramis said, his voice dry.

She lifted her head and glanced at Athos and could see immediately that she had alarmed him. His eyes were searching her face for an answer. She realised with a sudden warmth that his hand had reached out and gripped her knee in his worry. She fought down the blush and attempted to explain herself.

“The smell, the lavender. Porthos, do you remember I said?”

He nodded, while the others looked confused.

“There was another scent, but I couldn’t place it at the time. It was jasmine.” 

She felt Athos stiffen slightly by her side. “Anne.”

“Yes, but we knew that she was the killer d’Artagnan!” Aramis was still confused.

“I knew the scent though, I recognised it. From before!” she let her head drop back into her hands. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember. I met her! The first night I came to Paris, I met her!”

A hand pulled one of hers away from her face, forcing her to lift her head. Athos was gently holding her wrist, but his face looked anything but gentle.

“What do you mean?”

“The first night I came here, she saw me in a tavern. She, well, she took a liking to me, tried to...you know,” she fidgeted at the memory of having to persuade this beautiful woman that she wasn’t interested. “She was angry that I didn’t want her. When I left my room to pay the innkeeper in the morning, she broke into my room and left a bloody knife on my pillow. She had killed the man she was with and tried to blame me. She denied it of course, but now I know it was her.”

Athos looked nothing short of horrified.

“Have you seen her since?” asked Porthos, his voice tight.

She nodded. “A couple of times she’s tried to talk to me, seduce me I suppose. Then there was-” she stopped suddenly, the colour draining from her face.

“What?” Aramis asked sharply.

“She knows where I live,” she said softly, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

There was silence for a few moments, until Aramis broke it with a very quiet question. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “She turned up there a month or so ago, spoke to Constance. I knew it was her from the description she gave me. She said that Milady frightened her, and she was looking for me.”

She looked at Athos, who she realised with a jolt was still holding onto her wrist. He looked furious.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, and realised that his anger was, for once, not aimed at her.

“Now what?” asked Porthos.

“Now it’s even more important that we go with the captain’s suggestion,” Athos answered.

“Which was?” Charline asked.

“We leave.”

“What? Run away?” Aramis spluttered. “How on earth is that going to help anyone?”

“No, we are not retreating,” Athos turned to look at him, his grip on d’Artagnan’s wrist not changing as he moved. She wondered briefly if he was aware he was still touching her. “We are being sent by the captain on a mission that will take us out of Paris for a month or so.”

“To where?” Porthos looked intrigued.

“He hasn’t decided yet.”

“So we are running away.” Aramis sounded faintly disgusted, and his grimace was shared by Porthos.

“No. We are going to come back with a flawless plan, to finish both of them.”

“Both?”

“Anne, and the cardinal.”

Aramis and Porthos’ faces suddenly changed to ones full of interest.

“I like it,” Aramis grinned.

“But we don’t know where we are going?” Charline asked quietly.

“Yes, we do. The captain hasn’t decided where our mission will be, other than somewhere north out of Paris. But we are going south.”

“South?” she asked. 

He turned to look at her. “To Gascony.”

Her heart leapt for a moment and she smiled at him. To go home! She hadn’t realised until then how much she had longed to see it again, to smell it again. 

Her smile faded. “But, the farm...”

“Needs rebuilt,” Porthos answered.

“I assume there will be another building we can stay in?” Aramis asked.

She nodded. Everyone seemed to be on board with this idea instantly, but she had major concerns.

“She knows where I’m from, she knows about the farm. Won’t she think we would perhaps go there if we wanted to disappear?” 

“No, she will believe we have gone north on a job that Treville will get sanctioned by the king,” Athos shook his head. “You are right, she knows where you are from, but she also knows that you sold the land nearly two weeks ago.”

“I did what?” 

She couldn’t believe this. Did this mean that this plan had been being discussed for a while? Since Labarge even? She felt her neck begin to flush as her anger spread. How dare they make plans for her without her knowledge. 

“Before you start shouting at us, we knew nothing about this. The captain let the cardinal know you had got rid of the land as a safety option.” Athos was looking at her with a raised eyebrow. He squeezed her wrist and let go. 

She wasn’t quite sure she was entirely comfortable with him recognising her temper building quite so quickly.

“And if she follows us?” she asked. She was still not happy with this plan.

“She won’t. We will leave tonight and head north. After her mistakes with Gallagher the cardinal will be loath to let her go far. We will also have musketeers checking our route regularly. She is good at hiding in the shadows, but every musketeer in Paris will be looking for her. We will know where she is.”

“I guess it’s all been planned then, hasn’t it?” she said with a shrug.

“It has,” Athos said firmly.

She looked across at Porthos and Aramis, both of whom were smiling at her. She let her excitement come through and smiled back at them. She was going home, and they were coming with her.

They began to chatter, making more detailed plans about routes, thinking about where they could be sent on a mission from Treville, and what they could be doing to take them away for as long as it took. They needed to be away long enough for the cardinal and Milady to relax a little, and to make sure that whatever plan they came up with was foolproof. 

Charline said little, but listened happily as they talked. She was listing all the things she wanted to see, and do, while she was down in Gascony - beginning with a memorial to her father. She smiled softly as she thought about taking Athos (and Porthos and Aramis of course) to the nearby village, showing him (them!) the places she had grown up.

“Wait!” she burst out, straightening suddenly and startling them all. “If I’m going home I can’t go like this! How on earth do I explain this to my neighbours?”

Athos shrugged. “You don’t. You will need to go home as yourself.”

Aramis’ head whipped round to look at her as a huge grin broke out over his face. “Well well, d’Artagnan in a dress? This is going to be fun!”

She looked at him, horrified. Porthos was also grinning at her.

“But...I don’t have any clothes, they were all at home.”

“Then you’ll need to borrow some. From Constance, I suppose.”

Was she imagining the colour that suddenly appeared faintly in Athos’ cheeks? No, she didn’t think she was. Quite suddenly, the idea of going home as Charline didn’t seem quite so horrifying.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That evening she stood in her room, watching as Constance packed up some of her own clothes, adding them to d’Artagnan’s shirts and trousers that had already been stuffed into the bags.

“You even pack like a man, honestly,” Constance tutted.

Charline shrugged and grinned. “I’m in character.”

Constance snorted, finishing what she was doing before sitting on the bed.

“So, a month or two with Athos? How on earth will you survive that?” she grinned at her.

“Aramis and Porthos will be there too you know,” d’Artagnan huffed.

“I know. But your reaction to them is much less interesting.”

D’Artagnan laughed at the lascivious look on her friend’s face. She flopped down onto the bed beside her. “I’m so confused Constance. He is the most infuriatingly confusing person I have ever met in my life.”

Constance waved a hand dismissively. “They’re all like that. You think he might feel something for you?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, never that,” she sighed. “I just can’t work out if he cares, or if I’m a nuisance. Sometimes he says and does things that tell me he really does care.” Her hand moved unconsciously to the spot on her forehead when he had kissed her.

“But then...oh I don’t know. We just seem to go backwards and forwards. A lot.”

Constance wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. It felt nice, but not quite the same as Athos’ arms wrapped tightly around her.

“It will work out d’Artagnan, you’ll see.”

“Not the way I want it to,” Charline said quietly, pulling out of the hug. “But I’ll survive, don’t worry.”

The brave smile she gave her friend was answered with a thoughtful look, then Constance got up and left the room. D’Artagnan blinked at the open doorway, not quite sure what had just happened. She got her answer a minute later when Constance came back, grinning, with her arms full of recognisable green fabric.

“You’re taking this one,” she announced, dropping the green dress on the bed and folding it. “A couple of months is a long time Charline. It would be a crime to waste them.”

D’Artagnan chuckled at the eager look on Constance’s face. The dress would never be enough, but she would humour her friend. She was grateful that someone cared so much   
about her happiness.

The bags finally packed, Constance turned and faced her triumphantly, hands on her hips and a huge smile on her face. “All set.”

Charline stood and pulled her into another hug. “Thank you, for everything.”

There was a suspicious watery quality to Constance’s eyes when they pulled apart. “I’m going to miss you, Monsieur,” she grinned.

“You remember what I said?”

“Yes, yes. Bonacieux and I will leave Paris as soon as possible. He will want to go to buy fabrics soon anyway, and then we will visit some family.”

“You will write to me, tell me where you are?”

“Of course! How else will I know when I am allowed to return home?”

“I am sorry for the trouble,” Charline said apologetically. “But I will feel much better knowing you are safe.”

“As will I. I was just teasing d’Artagnan. It’s no trouble. Bonacieux has been wanting to go away to see his mother for some time, so I won’t need to work hard to persuade him. It will do us some good to spend some time together anyway,” Constance said, a genuine smile on her face. D’Artagnan was relieved to see it. She hoped that Constance could find a way to be happy.

“I’ll leave you now. Some dinner before the others arrive for you?”

Charline nodded. “Please. I’ll miss your cooking too.”

Constance smiled at her once more before leaving the room again, closing the door behind her this time. Charline sat down on the bed, lying back until she was stretched out with the bags lying beside her. 

She closed her eyes and thought about what Constance had said. She knew it was fruitless, but she let her imagination carry her away for a while. She pictured Athos’ face when he had seen in her in a dress, and imagined replicating that same look on his face as he saw her once again. She thought of days in his company, working at his side, sharing meals and sitting together in the evenings, always dressed as herself, and he unsure how to feel about it.

She thought about what would happen once he saw her truly as a woman, the lingering touches of her arm, kisses on her forehead that lasted a moment too long. Maybe eventually he would take her in his arms, a hand gently cupping her face as he contemplated kissing her properly, a look on his face that showed how much he cared from her, how much he wanted her. She had never seen anyone look at her that way.

She sat up with a jolt, her heart in her mouth and her entire body shuddering as an icy blast shot through her.

After a moment she groaned and threw herself back on the bed, her hands covering her face as she acknowledged the new dread that took her over.

How on earth was she going to explain Alain?


	17. Chapter 17

“Are you serious?” Aramis asked, his nose wrinkled in mild disgust. The look on his face was echoed by Porthos’ wide eyes behind him.

Charline would have laughed at the pair of them, if she hadn’t been in agreement.

“Absolutely. Let’s go.” Athos left no room for argument as he dismounted, throwing the reins and a coin to the young boy who seemed to pass as a stable hand and striding inside the questionable-looking establishment they had stopped at.

“He’s actually serious,” Aramis stared after him, dumbfounded. 

“Come on,” Porthos said as he dismounted. “We’ve stayed in worse places than this before.”

“Perhaps,” Aramis grimaced as he followed suit, frowning at the filthy state of the boy who stood waiting patiently for the rest of the horses. “And when have you ever known me not to complain about it?”

Porthos laughed at Aramis’ wide-eyed innocence and followed Athos into the inn, Aramis chuckling as he followed in his wake.

Charline slowly dismounted and smiled at the boy before walking towards the door. She paused outside, eyeing the dirty looking windows, the cracked paint on the door, and the unreadable broken sign above it. She couldn’t fathom why Athos had decided to stop here and now, but she was exhausted so she wasn’t going to argue.

Stepping through the threshold, her eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom inside. A lack of lanterns made the room murky at first, but after a few minutes she could see that it was a large space, with several tables and chairs dotted around. Very few of them were occupied. 

She made her way around several tables to the one in the corner where Aramis and Porthos were already sitting, a young girl beside them no doubt taking their order for wine and food. As she approached the girl turned away from them, smiling at d’Artagnan as she passed her. Charline took a seat, watching the girl head to the bar, where Athos was conversing with the owner.

“I told you it wouldn’t be the worst,” Porthos was saying.

Aramis nodded in agreement. “Fair enough. Remember the rat in your pallet?”

“I’ll never bloody forget it!” Porthos shuddered. “Thanks for that.”

“I doubt Athos will forget it either,” Aramis laughed.

“Where else was I supposed to go?”

Charline had a sudden vision of Porthos trying to fit his large frame into a bed beside a sleeping Athos and chuckled. She stopped when the vision altered and _she_ was suddenly snuggled up against him.

“What’s the matter d’Art? Jealous?” Aramis wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

“Shut up Aramis.”

She’d lost count of how many times she had said that since they had left Paris.

The girl came back with bowls of stew and bread for them at the same time as Athos, who was carrying the wine for her. They all approached the first bite tentatively, but were soon eating happily as the food turned out to be surprisingly edible. It made a nice change from slightly charred food cooked in the woods. 

“So d’Artagnan, what are we going to find in Lupiac?”

Charline froze at Athos’ question. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve been travelling for five days and we should be there in another two or three. I think we need to know what to expect when we get there.”

“Especially if we’re going to be rebuilding a bloody farm,” Aramis added dryly.

She sighed inwardly with relief. She had felt Athos watching her for the last few days, making her even more uncomfortable as she tried to keep her latest secret, and hoped that Alain would not be featuring in their time at home.

Smiling, she launched into a description of the farm as it had been: the house and outhouses that she expected were all gone, the acreage of the fields that belonged to it, the animals that were kept and the old stable block in away from the house that she expected them to be sleeping in for the duration.

“It’s a stable, Aramis, so this will be a luxury in comparison,” she warned.

“I am wounded d’Artagnan. Have we not slept outdoors these last evenings?” he held a hand to his heart as if in despair. 

“Then why complain in the first place?” Porthos threw up his hands in exasperation, only half-joking.

“Would you not be concerned that some ill had befallen me if I didn’t?”

“Absolutely,” Athos dead-panned. They all paused for a second, then burst into laughter as one.

“Tell me Aramis,” said d’Artagnan, determined to get her own back after days of teasing. “Can you milk a cow?”

The look of horror that briefly crossed his face was enough.

They passed a couple of hours this way, sitting talking, and drinking together, a pile of hats discarded in the middle of the table, and Charline realised that she felt truly happy for the first time in a while. Since they had left Paris things had felt like they used to; the four of them, together. The fug of wine had convinced her that Alain would not be a problem, and these next weeks or months at Lupiac could be just like this. Almost perfect.

Eventually, Athos called time on the merriment and directed everyone off to bed. He handed a key to Porthos and told him and Aramis the room number they were to go to.

Porthos winked at her before he left, and she squirmed in her seat. Athos couldn’t possibly mean to share with her, could he? Of all of them?

“Leave the door open,” Athos called after their retreating backs. 

Apparently not. She tried to ignore the disappointment; maybe she could have found a rat in her bed...

She looked at him questioningly as he handed her another key. Their fingers brushed and she snatched it quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from him. She smiled weakly, embarrassed.

“Have you thought about when you are going to change into your other clothes?” he asked.

“Um, no. Do I need to, now?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, it’s entirely up to you. I just thought you might want a day or so to get used to them again before we arrive at your home.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. It has been a while!” she grinned.

She was relieved to hear him chuckle at her. “It has indeed.”

He stood and held out a hand to her, his other sliding his hat off the table. “Come on.”

She stood and accepted it, letting him pull her through the room to the stairs that were hidden in the darkness on the other side. He walked up the stairs ahead of her, her hand still clasped in his. She was grateful for it, as it was even darker over here, but she also had to chant in her head a warning not to launch herself at him when she reached the top.  
They walked down the corridor they reached at the top of the stairs, long and dark and lit by only two lanterns. Before she could stop herself she squeezed his hand. He stopped and turned to her.

“I just...I wanted to say, thanks I suppose,” she stuttered. He said nothing but looked at her in confusion. “I mean,” she said. “It’s been so nice, these last few days. I feel like we’re getting back to normal, you know?”

_Oh my God,_ she thought, _I sound like such a girl!_

“You don’t have to thank me d’Artagnan,” he sighed. “Things should never really have changed.”

She looked at him for a long moment. His eyes were sad, the lamplight reflecting in them and highlighting the flickers of red in his beard. The shadows of the poor lighting picked out the shapes and contours of his face. She didn’t think she had ever seen him look more beautiful. She wasn’t quick enough to stop herself from putting her hat on then reaching up and brushing his hair back from his forehead.

She froze, her finger hovering above his eyebrow. _What the hell am I doing?_

Her hand dropped quickly back to her side, and she was glad of her hat as she tilted her head forward to hide her face. “Sorry,” she whispered.

The grip on her other hand tightened briefly and released. His hand then appeared below her chin and lifted it until she couldn’t escape his gaze. She waited for him to speak, watching the way his eyes searched her face.

“You confuse me,” he said softly. Her eyes widened. “Or at least I confuse myself in regards to you d’Artagnan.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, then cursed herself for breaking the moment.

He chuckled. “Stop apologising,” he said, attempting to look sternly at her.

She nodded. She waited in the silence for what seemed like hours, waiting for him to explain his confusion, telling herself not to hope that it was what she thought he meant. He didn’t.

“Come on,” he let her go, walking away from her to a door halfway down the hall. There was only one more after it. “You’re in here. We must leave early.”

“Alright,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t show her disappointment.

She made to move past him to the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned her head to the side and looked up at him. He still looked a little sad.

“There will be time for us to talk, alright?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Her eyes widened as he dipped his head and kissed her on the cheek.

“Goodnight d’Artagnan.”

She could say nothing as she watched him walk away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They made good time the next day, so much so that when they reached that evening’s inn Porthos announced that they should arrive at Lupiac the next evening. It forced Charline’s hand and that night before she went to bed she laid out some of Constance’s clothing.

It took her a while to get dressed in the morning, even though she had picked out the easiest looking clothes she could find. There were so many layers! At least she could dismiss the dreaded bandages for the foreseeable future. Her hair caused another problem. She had always had difficulty in putting it up herself, and although it had grown a little in the last few weeks, it was still not long enough to make her look anything other than Charles in a dress.

Eventually, dressed in a wine coloured skirt, white blouse and dark corset over the top, and her hair finally pinned into submission, she made her way tentatively downstairs and into the light and airy room where the others were already sitting to their breakfast.

She approached tentatively, none of them looking up as she made her way over. They were chatting amicably, Athos and Aramis laughing at Porthos’ expense, judging by the looks he was shooting at Aramis. She said nothing and just slipped into the empty chair at the table and picked up some bread.

“Good morning,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could. 

The noise at the table all stopped at once. Charline looked at no one but reached across the table for some butter and then the jug of water that sat in the middle of the table. 

“Are we leaving soon?” 

“Yes. As soon as we’ve eaten.”

She looked up at Athos as he answered to see him smiling at her encouragingly. That crooked smile that made her glad she was sitting down. 

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Porthos first, quickly returning the grin he was sending her way, and then to Aramis, who was looking at her proudly.

“Morning. May I just say you are looking glorious on this fine day?” he winked at her, earning a roll of her eyes and swipe round the back of the head from Porthos.

“Leave her alone,” he practically growled.

“Hey! I was just being complimentary!”

Charline laughed. “Thank you, Aramis.”

“Come on, let’s go and saddle up the horses, let her eat in peace,” Porthos practically lifted Aramis out of his chair and shoved him towards the door. Before he followed, the big musketeer leant down to whisper in her ear.

“He’s right though. You look beautiful.” 

She blushed a little, but swatted him away with a dismissive hand and sent him on his way.

“Alright?” Athos asked her once they were alone.

“Fine,” she answered, in between bites. She was starving now that the nerves of appearing in her dress for the first time had passed. 

“How do you feel about going home today?”

She answered him with a smile. “I can’t wait.”

She ignored the dip in her stomach that came when the thought of Alain crossed her mind. It would fine. It had to be.

Athos kept her company while she finished her meal, saying little but keeping her ridiculously happy just with his presence at her side.

“Ready?” he asked her as she put down her cutlery, her plate cleared.

“Absolutely.”

They had ridden about four miles from the inn when Porthos pulled his horse up beside hers. He said nothing until Aramis had ridden past, winking at her again on the way, to join Athos at the front. The two were quickly engaged in a lively conversation, their laughter falling back to her and Porthos.

“You managing to ride alright in that?” he asked jokingly.

“Just about,” she grinned at him. “I did learn this way, but it’s much, much harder.”

“Things between you and Athos seem to be a little better,” Porthos commented.

She glanced at him, trying not to laugh at the poor attempt at an expression of innocence he was displaying. “Yes, they are.”

“Have you told him?”

“Told him what?”

“How you feel.”

“No!” she was horrified. “Absolutely not! And don’t you dare say anything Porthos, promise me.”

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Calm down, I’m not going to say anything. You know I wouldn’t, and neither would Aramis.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“You can’t go on like this though, either of you.”

She looked at him sharply. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “Just that talking to him might not be as bad as you think.”

He grinned at her, but refused to say any more. Eventually she gave up asking and just pondered his words as she rode quietly beside him. It kept her distracted and quiet for the rest of the day. Late in the afternoon she could barely remember having stopped for lunch, or what she had talked about to any of the musketeers who had ridden beside her at various points of the day.

She shook herself out of her reverie when Aramis halted in front of her and turned slightly to block the road. They all pulled up behind him.

“Only four miles to go,” he said. “Are we ready? D’Artagnan?”

She nodded at him. Now that she was so close she couldn’t wait to get there. She longed to breathe in the air again, feel the grass of her fields beneath her feet. 

“Let’s go,” she said, manoeuvring her horse around Aramis and taking the lead on the final stretch of their journey. She knew these roads after all.

None of the others tried to ride alongside her, leaving her in peace to enjoy these last miles through Gascony. They would reach the farm before they reached the village itself, so that would wait until tomorrow.

When they reached the last mile she broke into a trot, the others following behind at the same pace. Her heartbeat increased when she saw the well she used to walk to when their own was blocked after a storm, then the stream she learned how to fish in. Next came her favourite climbing tree, and then there it was: the track that would take them into the yard outside the farmhouse.

With a kick to its flank, she spurred her horse into a gallop and rode ahead of the others, taking in the length of the track in no time. 

She had almost forgotten what would be waiting for her. Tears sprang into her eyes when she looked at the charred remains of what used to be her home. The building hadn’t been a large one, but one half of it had been completely destroyed and the other was just a roofless shell. There was a lot of work to be done.

She dismounted and walked around the back, bracing herself for what she knew lay behind. She was relieved to see that the damage to these buildings was not so bad, but they were still badly damaged. She could see by the yard that Bertrand had done all that he could and had cleared the area and kept it clean. She would need to speak to him to find out the true extent of the damage, and to thank him for finding time to help when he had his own land to tend to. 

The work that had been done for her suggested that Bertrand still had all of his sons at home to help, and the thought was a little unsettling.

“D’Artagnan?” she heard Aramis calling her and made her way back round the house. All three of her musketeers were looking around them at the ruins in despair.

“I’m here,” she called.

“Oh d’Artagnan,” Porthos said, dismounting immediately and making his way over to her. He wrapped her up in a warm hug and she clung to him for a moment. 

“I’m fine,” she said after a moment, pulling herself out of his arms and wiping her eyes. “I knew what I was coming back to, right?”

“We will fix anything we can while we are here d’Artagnan,” said Aramis, coming over to join them. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.

She looked around him to where Athos stood, holding all four horses, with that look of guilt back on his face once again. What on earth was he feeling guilty about now? He couldn’t blame himself for Labarge’s work, surely. 

Oh. He blamed himself for suggesting they come here. Well, she wasn’t having that either.

“Come on. Let’s go to the old stables and get settled in,” she said brightly, moving over to take some reins from Athos. She smiled at him and breathed a sigh of relief when he returned it. “This way.”

She started to lead them around the house when she heard the sound of several horses arriving in the yard behind her. They all spun around to meet their visitors, hands straight to pistols or swords. Three men cantered into the yard, pistols in hand, but dropped them when they saw d’Artagnan.

“Charline!” the eldest shouted, pulling his horse to a halt and sliding down from the saddle. He wrapped his hands around the top of her arms, having a good look at her before he pulled her into a hug. “We heard the horses. It’s good to see you, my dear girl.”

“Bertrand,” she smiled warmly at him, accepting his hug with genuine happiness. “Thank you so much, for everything.”

He pulled back from her. “I’m only sorry we couldn’t stop it,” he said sadly.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am that you weren’t here,” she said. Athos cleared his throat behind her.

“Oh, sorry! Athos, Porthos and Aramis, this is my neighbour, Albert Bertrand.”

They shook hands and she did her best to ignore the questioning looks Bertrand was sending her away, obviously a little confused about the company she had arrived with.

“Are you not going to introduce us Charline?”

She turned to the two younger men who were now standing behind her, grinning at her. She swallowed the nerves and tried to catch the taller one’s eye. 

_Please don’t say anything, please don’t._

“Sorry. This is Bertrand’s younger sons, Jacques and Alain.” 

Before she could say anymore she found herself squashed between the two of them as they wrapped her in the kind of bear hug she had been subjected to since they had known each other as children.

Jacques broke away and moved over to shake the hands of the musketeers, who were watching her embarrassment with some amusement. Alain, however, kept a hold of her, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“It’s been far too long since you were home,” he said. 

“I know, I-”

The words were cut off when he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth. Her eyes widened and she pulled away from him almost immediately. She gaped at him, furious, and panicked. She was aware that all conversation round about them had stopped, and she could feel the eyes of her friends boring into her skull. She pulled his hands from her waist, but her dismissal of him was wasted when he stepped away from her and held out his hand Athos. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Alain Bertrand.”

_Please don’t make it worse, please, please don’t._

He grinned. “I’m Charline’s betrothed.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement! Keeps me going!
> 
> Bit of a rush this one because I'm going on holiday tonight. A little gift before I go! ;)

A strange buzzing sound filled her head, like a hundred bees had suddenly taken up residence in her brain and were determined that she wouldn’t be able to do or think anything coherent while they were there. She wanted to shake them out, but all she could do was continue to gape stupidly at Alain and the hand that was still outstretched towards Athos.

She saw Athos’ hand meet his in the middle and tried desperately to move her eyes to look at his face, to force the buzzing out so that she could hear what he was saying in return, if anything. 

In her peripheral vision she saw when Athos moved stiffly away, turning abruptly and moving out of her sight. She forced her head to turn and as she caught him fully in her sights, the noise in her ears gave way and she heard the sound of his boots hitting the ground quickly as he strode across the yard and grabbed hold of the horses.

“Hang on Athos, we’re coming,” Porthos called after him. Charline turned her pained eyes to him and Aramis and found them both staring at her, a mixture of shock and disappointment on their faces.

“Wait,I...,” she trailed off weakly. Porthos gave her a small shake of his head and the two of them turned and hurried after Athos, moving to take horses from him as he tried to manoeuvre all four of them round the house. She assumed they were going looking for the stable.

As soon as they were out of sight she rounded on Alain and struck him hard on the arm, only just stopping herself from punching him in the face.

“What the hell did you say that for?” she hissed at him.

“Alain, you never said anything-”

“Bertrand,” she interrupted his father’s wonder-filled speech. “It’s not true, we were never _betrothed_.”

“But, Charline,” Alain insisted, but she held up a hand and stopped him speaking.

“Albert, Jacques, it’s so wonderful to see you again, but do you think we could have a moment alone please?”

Albert looked a little sad, and confused, as he nodded and kissed her on the forehead, gesturing to his less troublesome son to follow him.

“We’ll come around tomorrow Charline, show you what we’ve been doing,” Jacques called over to her as they mounted, before walking their horse back down the road.

She faced Alain, hands firmly on her hips, her forehead burrowed in a deep frown. “I really, really want to punch you in the face right now.” 

She suddenly wished she was wearing her ‘Charles’ outfit.

“What? Why?” he looked genuinely confused.

“Why would you ever think you could greet me like that? Announce that we have plans to get married? Are you insane?” her voice was rising.

“I thought we did have plans!”

“I never agreed to any such plans and you know it!”

“Charline, we talked about this, for years,” he stepped towards her, his hands out to take her by the arms, but she took a sharp step back from him.

“We talked when we were children Alain, children. And yes, when we were older we had some fun, but we were never in any kind of situation that meant you should be kissing me on the mouth in front of people, or telling them we were to be married.”

She could feel the heat coming from her face. 

“I asked you, before you left...”

She sighed and softened her voice a little. “I told you, Alain, that I would think about it. But I never gave you an answer, and we were never for one moment considering it because we actually love each other.”

His face changed as he suddenly realised something. “Wait a minute. Are you angry with me because I kissed you, or because I kissed you in front of them?”

“What?” she was momentarily derailed by his change of track, and the sudden anger that filled his face. 

“Which of them is it? Which of them is it that you’re staying in Paris for?” he sneered at her.

“I am seriously reconsidering my decision not to punch you in the face Alain,” she said dryly, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“You-”

“Just leave Alain,” she stepped forward, looking him straight in the eye. The expression on her face obviously made it extremely clear that she was not asking as he briefly opened his mouth to say something more, but snapped it shut and walked briskly to his horse, mounting and following his father and brother at a brisk pace.

As he galloped out of sight Charline’s hand went to her mouth as she let out her breath with a shocked ‘oh’ and stumbled as her knees gave way. She spent several minutes sitting on the ground in the yard, trying to calm her breathing and sort out the thoughts that were fighting each other for space in her consciousness.

Had she just lost one of her oldest friends? Had she lost possibly the most important person in her life with another concealment? What was Athos thinking? What were Aramis and Porthos thinking? How on earth did she deal with this now? Did she really have to go and gain back their trust, again? Was she supposed to feel guilty about not telling them that a man at home had proposed to her? Was she allowed to feel angry if her hunch was right that they all just assumed she had lied to them yet again?

Eventually she calmed enough and pulled herself to her feet with a sigh. _Here we go again_ , she thought. She made no attempt to straighten her skirt, dust down her clothes or fix her hair. Steadfastly placing one foot in front of the other, she made herself walk round the back of the house and follow her musketeers. She assumed they would have found the old stone stables by now, untouched by the fire as it was hidden in the second field back from the main farmyard. She just didn’t know what she would find when she got there.  
The fresh mess outside the stable block told d’Artagnan that the others had indeed found their way there. Reaching the huge open doors, she paused for a moment to ready herself for yet another explanation she had to give. 

The first thing she saw inside was the horses, all four of them with heads bent eating hay in the individual stalls they had been placed into. She looked around the large, open room but saw no sign of any of her musketeers. 

“Hello?” she called. “Anyone here?”

She heard an answering noise above her head in the hayloft, but she couldn’t work out who or what it was. She made her way to the ladder that would take her to the floor above, pausing to speak quietly to her horse en route, and quickly climbed up to speak to whoever was there. Whoever had waited to speak to her.

She wasn’t hugely surprised to find that it wasn’t Athos.

She hopped off the top of the ladder and moved over to where Porthos was moving bales of hay and bits of detritus that were lying around to clear space on the floor, presumably for them to sleep. He didn’t stop until she was standing next to him.

“Where are the others?”

“Firewood.”

“Oh.”

She watched him in silence for a while longer then she moved away and unhooked a broom that was on the wall and followed his progress, sweeping the floor clean as best she could.

“Are you not going to ask me anything?” she enquired quietly, not looking at him.

He paused. “Do you want me to?”

“Well I thought you may be a little confused that someone just introduced themselves to you as my future husband!” she stopped, looking at him slightly incredulously.

Porthos sighed and sat on a bale of hay and she continued sweeping the loose hay that was littered around her. He said nothing, obviously waiting for her to speak.

“It’s not true,” she said firmly. “I was never going to marry Alain, and he should never have told you all that, or kissed me.”

“Alright.”

She stopped again, leaning on the broom. “That’s it?”

Porthos shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

She blinked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Look,” he said, standing and walking towards her. “I was shocked, alright, we all were. I was hurt also, at the thought that there was more that you hadn’t told us. But if you say it’s not true, and you didn’t hide anything else or lie to us, then what have I to be angry about?”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. She recommenced sweeping.

“Are you going to ask?” Porthos said, causing her to freeze for a second.

“What do you mean?”she asked innocently.

She heard the musketeer get to his feet and approach her. She ignored it, but was soon stopped by his hand covering hers and pulling the broom to a stop.

“He hasn’t said anything about it. He just went to get firewood and Aramis followed him.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine once you’ve spoken to him, and to Aramis.”

“I’ll tell them the truth when we eat,” she pulled the broom and her hand from his loose grasp and continued her work. “I’ll finish here. Let me know when dinner’s ready?”

He nodded and walked away, back towards the ladder into the main stable.

“D’Artagnan?” 

“Yeah?”

“Did you hit him?”

She looked up and saw Porthos grinning at her a few steps away. She smiled back and shook her head.

“Pity. Next time.”

She nodded.

“D’Art?”

She looked up again.

“He was hurt. Upset I’d say, and not just because he thought you’d hidden something from him.”

She gave Porthos a watery smile and ducked her head, sweeping furiously as he finally reached the ladder and climbed downstairs. She only heard his voice one more time.

“Make it pretty up there d’Artagnan!”

She chuckled.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was another hour before she was called down to dinner beside the fire they had built in the field, then she wasted no time in telling the other two flatly that there had been no truth in Alain’s claims, and that she had barely stopped herself from punching him out for doing what he had done.

Aramis laughed as she described her argument with him, and Athos just accepted her word with a quiet nod. That was all she got out of him for the duration of the dinner. It was painfully obvious to everyone that he was not speaking, but it just led to Aramis prattling incessantly in a vain attempt to fill the tension.

Eventually, Athos stood and announced that he was going to bed, startling them all with the suddenness of his movement. They watched in silence as he walked back through the field towards the stables.

“Don’t you think now would be the time?” Aramis asked casually.

She scowled at him. “I know.”

“Well, we’re not going to sit here for hours waiting for you to speak to him, so go and do it now.”

Aramis nudged her with his hip and pushed her off the log the two of them had shared for the meal. 

“Sorry!” he said innocently, at the same time as he casually stretched out and took up the entire log. She looked at Porthos for help, but he just shrugged and nodded his head towards where Athos had gone.

“Fine,” she said, marching away. She hadn’t gone more than ten steps when she heard Aramis comment.

“They better sort all this out or I will lock them in a room together until they do.”

She assumed she was meant to hear it.

For the second time that day Charline paused to take a final deep breath outside the stables, although this time she had to pull the heavy door open to get inside. She saw him immediately, in the stall beside his horse brushing it down. She approached quietly.

“We don’t need to talk about it d’Artagnan,” he said, taking her by surprise. She almost laughed at his predictability.

“I think we do,” she said.

“You explained what happened, there’s nothing else to talk about.”

He put the brush down and came out of the stall, moving past her and heading for the ladder. She followed him. 

“I’m going to bed,” he said, pausing before he began his ascent.

“Me too,” she shrugged, gesturing that he should continue to climb. 

He raised an eyebrow at her but headed up the hayloft. Apparently nobody was going to back down here at all. She didn’t start regretting the move until she had stepped off the ladder and her brain kicked in and told her that she’d basically followed him to his bed.

“So, um,” she stammered. He turned to face her, his expression giving nothing away.

She groaned in frustration. “Talk to me!”

An eyebrow was raised with a definite air of aristocracy about it. “And what would you have me say, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” she threw up her hands. “Whatever you were avoiding saying while we were eating.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes I do!”

He regarded her for several seconds before he finally sighed in defeat. “Fine. I was thinking that trouble follows you everywhere. Even when nothing has actually happened there is still trouble ahead, and it’s exhausting.”

She recoiled back as if he had struck her. “You’re tired of me?”

“That’s not what I said,” he said calmly.

“No, but it’s what you meant,” she snapped, her hurt turning quickly to anger. “Well, do you know something Athos? I’m exhausted too. I’m tired of you.”

“Indeed,” he said. How could he still be so calm?

“Yes, I’m tired of you not talking to me when something is pissing you off, of you showing absolutely no emotion any time I try to talk to you about what’s going on. I’m tired of you dismissing me like I’m a silly little girl, and I’m tired of you pulling yourself away from me because I happen to be a woman.”

“Are you finished?” 

Now she could see anger in his face.

“No I’m not finished,” she began pacing in front of him, unable to stop herself from speaking. “One minute you care, and the next minute you believe the worst of me. It’s so tiring Athos, I never know how to act or what to say around you. You’re so bloody difficult to be around! You say trouble follows me? Well misery follows you.”

She bit her lip as she realised she had taken things too far. She looked at him quickly, just in time to see the hurt in his face before he hid it.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I think you’ve said enough, don’t you?” he asked quietly. He turned his back on her and moved towards his bedroll, which was lying as near to hers as she had dared place it. He kept his back to her and began to get ready, removing his belt and weapons before pulling his shirt over his head.

“Athos-”

“Enough, d’Artagnan!” 

She heard the hurt in his voice that time, but instead of reacting in sympathy her anger flared once again.

“You see?” she said. “Even now you won’t speak to me! You won’t tell me what you are thinking, or what you are feeling.”

“I cannot tell you what I am feeling Charline, I won’t!” he whirled to face her.

“Why not? You would have spoken to me before,” she pushed, ignoring the temptation to rake her eyes of his semi-clad form. “Before you knew the truth of me, you would have confided in me.”

“None of this would have happened for me to feel anything about if we hadn’t found out about the real you d’Artagnan.”

“Are you really going to continue to blame me for everything?”

“Who else is there?” he snapped. “Perhaps it helps to keep me in my misery.”

“I have apologised, over and over. Why can you not forgive me for my lie?” she could hear the plea in her own voice.

“I forgave you for your lie some time ago d’Artagnan,” Athos said quietly.

“So, it’s just me then?” she asked, her voice also suddenly quiet. 

He just stared at her, saying nothing. She couldn’t read the expression in his face at all. She had never seen him look at her like this before. Back to anger for her.

“Fine,” she growled. “I’m sorry for what I said, but if you can’t speak to me, then I cannot do this anymore.”

With her chin firmly raised she turned back towards the ladder, with no idea what her plan was once she got to the bottom of it. She couldn’t work out if her anger or her devastation were stronger, she just knew that she needed to get away from him before she cried all over him, slapped him, or threw herself into his arms.

She reached out a hand to grab hold of where the ladder was attached to the wall. Before she made contact a hand reached further and grabbed hold of hers, pulling her further into the hayloft and spinning her round. From nowhere she suddenly found herself pressed up against Athos’ bare chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso. 

She stared up at him, unable to breathe as she waited for him to speak. She still couldn’t read his eyes. 

She only had a few seconds to try before his head dipped towards hers and his lips sought hers out in what surely had to be the most passionate kiss she would ever experience in her whole life.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee rush job since you have waited so patiently! Please forgive any errors... 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! :)
> 
> B xx

She froze for about half a second as his lips met hers, but she snapped out of it and responded with equal passion. His tongue demanded entrance to her mouth and she granted it. A shiver shot through her whole body when their tongues met and she only just managed to contain the moan that was rapidly building in her throat.

Something wasn’t quite right though, what was it? Oh, her hands. She was desperate to touch him, to thread her fingers into his hair and, to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but his arms hadn’t moved since they clamped around her and her arms were trapped between their bodies.

So instead, for the moment, she concentrated on the feeling of his lips on hers, much softer than she had ever imagined. His facial hair scratched her face gently, but she could barely feel it with his tongue teasing hers in such magical ways. Her entire body felt alive and alert, to a depth that she had never felt before.

His arms tightened around her briefly as he deepened the kiss even further and she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her. His arms loosened and she had a momentary panic that he was going to pull away from her, but then one of his hands was at the back of her neck, gently teasing the muscles there while his other hand stroked up and down her back. She took the opportunity to pull her arms out from their entrapment and quickly cupped his face in both of her hands. From there they wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her and forcing him to move his hands back to her waist where they gripped her tightly. She smiled into the kiss as she moved her hands once again, one sliding into his hair and the other stroking his back. She was mirroring his movements, but with the major difference that the skin her hand was ghosting over was not covered by anything. When he moaned into her mouth she would have lost the ability to stand if he hadn’t been holding her so firmly. She smoothed both hands over his back before bringing them back to hold his face.

She smoothed her thumbs over his cheekbones as the kiss inevitably slowed down. She felt him smile a little against her as they pulled back a little to end up with their lips softly pressing together, small kisses over and over as they waited for their breathing to settle back down. 

Charline knew that she would quite happily give up breathing altogether if she could just keep kissing Athos like this forever. 

After a few more moments he pulled away from her with a sigh, then bent his head to bury his face in her neck, his hands once again stroking gently up and down her back.  
Charline held him tightly against her, her face turned up to the wooden roof of the building, battling with the tears that had rapidly appeared in her eyes. 

She was elated, but she was also strangely devastated. Never for a moment had she allowed herself to dream that this would happen, that she would ever get to know what it felt like to be held and kissed with such passion by him. But not for a moment did she think that this feeling she had, of being desired, of being what Athos wanted, was going to last.  
They stood in silence, melded together, for several agonising minutes. All too soon, however, she felt his hands sliding away from her, his head lifting from her shoulder. She expected to feel cold when he stepped away from her, but instead she found that she was too scared to feel much of anything else.

He stood just out of her reach; his eyes still betraying the desire that had obviously made him pull her into his arms, but she could see it slowly being pushed out by the sadness that was gradually moving in.

The tears in her eyes were still there, but had not yet fallen. They were waiting for what was coming.

Athos opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“Please,” she said softly. “Please don’t.”

“D’Artagnan...” he whispered.

“Don’t, Athos. Don’t give me regrets, or excuses, or apologies. I don’t want any of it.” She stepped further back from him. A safe distance. “I want this. I want you. I know you’re about to tell me that you shouldn’t have done that, but please don’t feel bad for it. If anything, feel bad that you are about to live up to type and pull away from me yet again.”

She smiled weakly at him and he hung his head. By the time he looked back up her cheeks were wet. He looked at her for a moment, sadness still etched in every feature. Charline held her breath and waited for him to speak, knowing that she needed to hear him say something, but dreading it at the same time.

He stepped forward and closed the distance between them, reaching out to wipe the tears from her face.

“I could never regret you d’Artagnan, not for one moment,” he said. With that, he pulled away from her again, pausing only to lift the shirt he had discarded earlier before heading for the ladder. She couldn’t look at him as he left her, but she did hear him pause on the ladder behind her and whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

At his words a sob escaped her and a hand flew to her mouth to try and catch it. She heard him reach the bottom of the ladder and stride out of the stables. When the muffled sound of the door closing reached her she finally allowed herself to react. She struggled to breathe as she sobbed until she forced herself to take several deep breaths. 

Quickly, she grabbed hold of her bedding and slid it across the floor until it was placed between Aramis and Porthos’. It would be perfectly obvious to everyone what she had done, but it made no difference to her at this point. Aramis and Porthos knew how she felt about Athos after all, and now the man himself was not far away from the truth. She started battling with her clothes, not as used to getting herself undressed as she was before her six month stint as her alias. She sent up a quick thanks when she got the last of the cumbersome clothes off, and rooted through her baggage for the only thing she could think to wear. Soon, she was attired in only her underwear and one of her ‘Charles’ shirts, and she climbed quickly into bed.

She curled onto her side, grateful for the hay she had laid out earlier as pallets for everyone, and pulled her blanket up over her head.

Once she was safely cocooned from prying eyes, and the world at large, she let her heart crack in two and cried quietly until she fell asleep in exhaustion.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She could feel that someone, or something, was staring at her, patiently and quietly. Reluctant to open her eyes, she lay there for several minutes pretending to be asleep.

“I’m just going to stay here and wait until you admit you’re awake, you know.”

She sighed and cracked open one eye, which was difficult after the way she had fallen asleep. There was a shaft of bright sunlight shining in through the open doors in the hayloft roof. It made the space light enough for her to see the expression on Aramis’ face, which was resting on one hand where he lay beside her. She closed her eye again.

“Go away,” she croaked. Her throat was a little raw.

“Can’t,” he replied. “I told Porthos I would get you up for breakfast.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’m...not hungry.”

“Yes you are, you always are,” he smiled at her and rolled onto his back, his hands clasped behind his head. He turned his head a little to look at her sideways. “You were also the one that told us how much work needed to be done.”

She sighed. How could she explain to him her reluctance to get up and work in amongst them? How on earth was she going to face Athos today, without hitting him or kissing him? She thought wryly that the first was more likely, the way she was currently feeling.

“It’s quite safe d’Art, he’s not there.”

She swallowed. “Who?”

Aramis chuckled. “The King, who do you think? Although I’d very much know what you did to him. He came storming out of here last night and wouldn’t let either of us go to bed for an age in case we disturbed you, but wouldn’t tell us anything. He was like a dog with a sore paw, or Porthos when he’s out-cheated at cards.”

The smile he sent her was not returned, and he immediately frowned in concern.

“Where is he?”

“He ate and left for the village to get some supplies, he said. What on earth happened?”

She shook her head but didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure that she could. To her eternal shame tears sprang back into her already sore eyes. Aramis said nothing but pulled his left hand out from under his head and held his arm open in invitation. D’Artagnan shifted over until she was pressed against his side with her head resting on his chest and let him wind his arm around her and hold her. She felt a kiss pressed against her head.

“Did you tell him?” he asked quietly.

She laughed softly. “No.”

“Did you argue?”

“For a while,” she nodded.

“But?”

She turned her head down a little, making sure that Aramis couldn’t see her face at all. “He kissed me,” she said quietly.

Aramis froze. “He what?”

“He kissed me,” she sighed. “Then he left.”

“But, what, I mean...did he say anything?” she was almost amused by Aramis’ flustering.

“I didn’t let him,” she looked up at him. “I knew what he was going to say, and I’m sure you can guess. I didn’t give him the chance to tell me that he shouldn’t have. I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Ah,” he said. “And now you don’t want to see him? Well that’s going to be a little difficult.”

“I know, I know. I just need to find a way to deal with it.”

“Well, don’t make it easy for him,” Aramis squeezed her shoulder. She looked at him in surprise. “He’s never going to work out that acting on your feelings is the better way to go unless you make him keep acknowledging those feelings, is he?”

“I’m not quite sure I’m up to that,” she laughed. “I’ll bear it in mind though Aramis, thanks.”

He gave her a quick squeeze. “Come on lazy. Come and get some breakfast then you can put us to work.”

He released her from his hold and stood and made his way over to the ladder. Just before his head dropped out of sight he gave her a wink, and she of course rolled her eyes at him. She found herself smiling a little as she got ready as quickly as possible. Aramis was right, she shouldn’t make it too easy for Athos. She wasn’t going to try and seduce him, mainly because the thought of it both terrified and embarrassed her, but she wasn’t going to moon after him either.

What happened next was up to him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Unfortunately Athos’ way of dealing with the situation was to speak to her only when he had to, and do his best to stay out of her way. Over the next three days Charline felt her temper slowly building until she got to the point that she stopped trying to talk to him too. Porthos and Aramis both made their exasperation at the two of them perfectly clear, but she didn’t let it bother her. If Athos was going to act like a child, then she was going to do the same.

Even Albert and Jacques picked up on the atmosphere when they came around every day to help with the land. Nobody mentioned Alain’s obvious absence.

“You can come and stay with us Charline, if it would be easier,” Albert said to her as they prepared to leave on the third day. She got the sense that he was uneasy with her staying in the company of three men, and probably a little confused by the whole situation as she had explained nothing.

“I’m fine, Albert, honestly,” she smiled at him. “Just a little disagreement amongst friends, it will be over soon.”

She couldn’t help but agree when he looked at her doubtfully. 

“If you say so,” he shrugged and gestured to the farm around them. “You’ll be alright with all of this?” 

“We’ll be fine. We’ll see you in a few days,” she smiled encouragingly at him. She had been feeling guilty that Bertrand was obviously ignoring his own farm, and had insisted that they would manage alone until after his next market day.

A few minutes later she watched him leave, Jacques following behind after squeezing her into a tight hug, and laughing when she swatted her hand at him as he moved away. She was relieved that neither of them seemed to be at all put out by the situation with Alain. The thought of losing all of them was too much to bear.

As Jacques finally trotted out of sight, still waving manically at her, she turned and made her way around the house, determined to go inside and see what progress had been made while she had been working in the fields. Turning the corner of the building she stopped short when she saw Athos stepping out of the door at the rear, his arms full of rubbish that he was obviously in the middle of clearing out. She watched as he made his way over the large pile that would be burned later and dropped his load onto it. As he turned away he caught sight of her watching him and paused.

It was several moments before either of them spoke.

“I just...I wanted to,” she started, but stopped when she realised he had spoken too. “Sorry?”

He took a couple of steps towards her then held out his hands, almost hopelessly. “I just asked how you are,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine,” she said abruptly.

“I see,” he said, visibly bristling at her tone.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that all?”

“Yes, d’Artagnan,” he sighed. “That’s all.”

“Good,” she snapped, then broke eye contact and marched towards the door into the house.

“Wait,” he called after her. “I wouldn’t go in there.”

She stopped and turned to glare at him. “You’re making decisions for me about this too are you?” she asked, and immediately kicked herself inwardly for being so petty.

He tensed up, eyes narrowing to match hers. “Yet again, d’Artagnan, I am just looking after your safety.”

“I think we’ve established that I can look after myself,” she replied and continued her march towards the house, his words swirling in her head. Safety? Did he really think that being with her would be unsafe? She had no idea what he could mean.

His hand grabbed her arm as she reached the doorway, stopping her in her tracks.

“It’s not safe,” he growled. “You can’t go in there until we get the roof fixed!”

“But you can?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, because I know which parts of the house we have already fixed!”

She wrenched her arm from him and put her hands on her hips. “I’m sure I will be fine Athos, you can’t keep everything from me. My house, remember?”

With that she crossed through the door, vaguely hearing his “suit yourself” growled at her from behind. Shaking thoughts of him from her head she walked slowly around the ground floor of the house, noticing instantly where Athos and the others had been working hard to rebuild her home. Half of the house had been cleared out, and she could see in the roof above her that a large section had been fixed. That explained the sight of Porthos sitting very carefully on top of the house the day before.

Gingerly, she stepped into the part of the house that Athos had obviously been clearing. The old kitchen. As she picked her way carefully around it she realised that he had not followed her into the house and guessed he was avoiding both her and her sharp tongue. She rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t quite sure if it was at him or herself.

A scrabbling sound behind her made her whirl round, laughing when she caught sight of the chicken that had found its way inside and given her such a fright. She ushered it back out of the kitchen, into the cleared parlour area where it could cause less bother. 

Turning back into the kitchen she squealed when another bird came out of nowhere and flew into her face. Throwing her hands up she shoved the panicking bird aside, but squealed again as she fell over some rubble at her feet and ended up falling into the remains of the wall between the two rooms. She watched in dismay as the remaining stone wobbled and began to tip over. With a clatter that shook her ear drums the wall collapsed and she breathed heavily for a few moments as she waited for the dust to settle.   
Finally admitting to herself that perhaps she should have listened to Athos and not come inside, she stood and dusted herself down. If she was going back out, she was not going out there looking like she had come to any harm. Not that he wouldn’t notice the wall when he came back in, of course.

Just as she moved to take her first step back into the parlour, she heard an ominous creak that told her this was about to get a whole lot worse.

She screamed for Athos as the first piece of roof fell in front of her, missing her by inches. Her second scream was cut off by the piece of wood that ricocheted off the stones on the ground and flew up to catch her in the head.

In a daze, she pulled herself into the corner of the room, her arms over her head. She watched in dismay, ignoring the blood that appeared to be pouring down her face, as the roof over the kitchen came down piece by piece until it had settled in a cloud of dust in front of her, trapping her in her corner.

“Brilliant,” she said aloud, with a large sigh.

Somehow she doubted she was going to hear the end of this any time soon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for all comments, kudos and views! Keep them coming! ;)
> 
> B x

“D’Artagnan!”

She could hear someone almost screaming for her but it took her another few seconds as her head throbbed dully to register why.

“D’Artagnan!” 

The voice was louder, inside the house now and sounding more panicked than before.

“Please, Charline, please answer me!”

“I’m here Athos, I’m trapped but I’m alright,” she finally answered when his voice cracked.

“Thank God,” she heard him say. He must be quite close to the rubble that was trapping her in.

“I can’t get out Athos, I’m next to the parlour but I’m hemmed in by the roof.”

“Are you hurt?” he called through.

“No, I’m fine,” she lied. She touched her forehead gently, wincing in pain and feeling a little nauseous at the blood that quickly covered her hand.

“Alright, hold on.”

She heard Athos get to work, trying to move large pieces of wood and at first having some success. She took the opportunity of his distraction to rip off a section of her skirt as quietly as she could, using it to mop the blood from her face and press it against the wound.

“D’Artagnan?” Athos called for her. “I can’t do this, not alone. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” she was starting to feel a little more dizzy now.

“I need to lever some of it to get to the bits I need to move. I need Aramis and Porthos to do this safely,” he sounded defeated and apologetic. “They left for the village a while ago, while you were still up in the fields.”

“Oh.”

“I have to go and hurry them back d’Artagnan, I-”

“No Athos!” she cried, panicked.

“What is it?”

“Don’t leave me alone, please.”

There was a pause.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he sounded suspicious.

“I’m fine,” she lied again. “Just stay.”

“Alright, alright. They shouldn’t be too long anyway.”

She dropped her head back in relief, leaning against the wall. She sat there for a few moments, then began to chuckle. “You do realise that now you have to talk to me?”

“I know,” she heard the wry humour in his voice.

“Well, go ahead,” she invited, when he clearly wasn’t go to say anything further.

“What exactly would you like to discuss?” he asked dryly.

D’Artagnan tried to roll her eyes, but it hurt like hell when she raised them upwards and it stopped her quickly.

She waited.

“It didn’t take me long to fall in love with Anne,” he began, quietly enough that she wouldn’t hear him if she breathed too loudly. “She was beautiful, impulsive, mysterious, loving.”

D’Artagnan was starting to wish she had asked him to talk about his horse or something. 

“I was wary of her, of women at all, after my mother. But you know that, don’t you? I keep forgetting what I’ve told you, before I knew the real you.”

“All you hinted about your mother was that you came to hate her,” Charline pointed out.

“That’s all you really need to know about her. I tried to stay away from Anne, but she was rather insistent,” he said, bitterly enough for Charline to wince. But she wasn’t going to disrupt this flow of honesty any more than she had to. “But then we know how attractive my title was to her. Although I do believe she came to love me too. After she...after I had her killed, I swore that I would never trust another woman again in my life. My mother had proven to me that women could not be trusted, and my wife had confirmed it. Since then I have never truly trusted another female.”

D’Artagnan had heard most of this before of course, but not from him sober, and not a few days after he had let his guard down and kissed her so thoroughly.

“Until you.”

She moved her head off the wall quickly as he shocked her out of her reverie, causing a wave of dizziness to go through her once again.

“You...you trust me? Really?” she couldn’t help but sound surprised. This was a huge step forward after all. She closed her eyes to the wave of nausea that flipped her stomach.

He laughed a little. “I trusted you when you were Charles. When you appeared out of the blue and tried to kill me, then did everything you could to stop me from hanging.”

Oh.

“When you stupidly put yourself in danger, time and time again, to prove a point. When you saved my life and pulled me from the fire. I trusted you completely, as much as I trusted my brothers.”

“And now?” she couldn’t help asking quietly.

“Now you have me all over the place d’Artagnan. I wanted to keep my anger at you; I needed you to fit into the mould I had created for women and not become a threat to me. But you have. I closed my heart when Anne turned out to be a monster, and you have been trying too bloody hard to open it again.”

She was sure what he was saying was making her happy, but she was finding it harder and harder to concentrate.

“I trust you d’Artagnan, God help me I do.”

“Athos?”

“Did you say something? I can hardly hear you.”

“I think I need you to get me out of here,” her words were starting to slur. “The blood...it’s not...”

“Blood?” he all but shouted. “D’Artagnan, are you hurt?”

“Head...dizz...”

“God damn you, you stubborn idiot!” he yelled at her, clearly panicking again. “Stay awake! Do not go to sleep!”

“Okay...”she whispered, her head drooping forward slightly.

“Charline d’Artagnan! You keep your stupid self awake, do you hear me?” the command in his voice woke her enough to hear him once again pulling at pieces of wood in an effort to free her.

“I’ll try Athos...hurts...” she said, as loudly as she could manage without wincing.

“Don’t try, just do it!” he panted as he frantically pulled at the roof debris.

“Shouting...always shouting,” she murmured.

“D’Artagnan?”

The noise of his movements got louder, but they weren’t enough to keep her eyes open. She vaguely felt the wood in front of her moving, and knew that somehow he was going to get to her. Now was not the time to take the safe route, and he would do what he had to. The thought was her last as she lost her fight to follow his command.

Something sudden and sharp woke her, moments or hours later. Groggily, she forced her eyes to open and was met with the sight of Athos peering at her, looking absolutely livid. 

He also looked like he had been fighting back tears.

“Athos...” her whisper trailed off.

“Have you learned nothing in your time with the musketeers?” he asked sternly.

“Learned what?” her eyes drifted shut again and he tapped her face lightly to wake her. She frowned at him. “Did you slap me before?”

He ignored the question. “Since when is it ever acceptable to lie about being injured?”

“Sorry. I just...I didn’t...” she couldn’t think straight enough to think of a good explanation.

“You were embarrassed because it never would have happened if you had listened to me,” he stated, fairly gently. Her frown deepened, but she didn’t deny it. “Your stubbornness is going to be the death of me d’Artagnan.”

“Likewise,” she said stubbornly, earning herself a small smile. It was then that she realised that they were outside in the yard, and she was lying cradled in his arms while he was sitting on the ground. He was also bleeding from his cheek. When he saw her frowning at it he lifted his hand to brush it away, showing her that it was really nothing, but instead showing her his bruised and bloody hand.

“Athos!” she admonished.

“What? Oh,” he shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“It looks like your knuckles have been cut to pieces,” she muttered.

“You fell asleep,” he said.

She closed her eyes to the warm glow that swept through her as he hinted at the fear he had felt as she had lost consciousness. 

“Must I slap you again, d’Artagnan?”

She opened her eyes sheepishly. “No, I’m here.”

“I need you to stay awake until Aramis gets back to check on your head wound, alright?”

“Alright. We can’t lie here until then though, it can’t be comfortable.”

Gently, he pushed her up into a sitting position, giving her a second to breathe through the wave of dizziness that hit her before he stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, noting that it was also scraped, but less injured than his other one, letting him pull her to her feet. He twisted his hand so that their fingers were interlinked and he squeezed hers gently as he led her to the ruined outbuilding that sat across from the house. The roof of this one had burned away entirely, but the walls were stone and strong, and still standing. 

He let go of her hand and sat himself down, leaning against the wall as comfortably as he could. D’Artagnan made as if to move to the side of him and sit, but he shook his head and reached for her hand. Confused, she took it once more, her eyes widening when he pulled her down and placed her sitting between his legs, her back resting against his chest and her head leaning back onto his shoulder.

The warmth of this strange embrace made her feel suddenly a lot less tired, helped even more when he didn’t let go of her hand but instead linked their fingers again and placed their joined hands on their stomach, effectively hugging around her. With a sigh she relaxed back into him and brought her other hand up to rest on top of their joined ones.

“Is this your plan d’Artagnan?” he murmured into her ear, a shiver shooting through her. How embarrassing. “To scare me and endanger yourself until I give in?”

“Is it working?” she whispered back.

His chuckle reverberated through her entire body, but to her disappointment he didn’t answer. 

“Tell me,” she said after a pause.

“Tell you what?” he asked, tipping his head to the side to lean gently against hers.

“Whatever you were trying to tell me when I was still trapped in there.”

She felt him sigh gently. She knew this was difficult for him, but this state of limbo was killing her. Fair’s fair.

To her surprise he wrapped his other arm around her, placing his injured hand on top of where their others were clasped together, pulling her into a tighter embrace before he began to speak.

“There really isn’t much else to say d’Artagnan. Not unless you let me say the things you don’t want to hear.”

She said nothing.

He sighed. “I couldn’t understand why I felt so drawn to you so quickly, why I trusted you so implicitly. I wanted your company, I enjoyed being around you. I suppose when I found out the truth I was a little disappointed to lose my friend. The d’Artagnan I had looked forward to sharing a lifelong friendship with was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know. I didn’t see the disappointment because I was angry. I was so angry that yet again I had been betrayed by a woman. All you had done was prove to me that I had been right to stay away from women as much as possible.”

“Not entirely,” Charline interjected.

“What?”

“You didn’t stay away from women entirely,” she said. She expanded her point when he said nothing. “Ninon.”

She felt him chuckle again. “We were assigned to her, the same as we are often assigned to the Queen. I didn’t say I hated all women, just that I couldn’t trust getting close to one.”

“You got close enough to her,” she muttered under her breath, then hoped frantically that he hadn’t heard her. The squeeze of her hand as he chuckled again told her otherwise.

“And now?” she prompted.

“You’re not making this easy,” he said.

“I’m not trying to,” she answered lightly.

“Now, as I have told you, you are confusing me, and driving me slightly crazy. But I am not good for you d’Artagnan. I am older than you, I am bitter, I drink too much and I live rather dangerously. How on earth could I bring you into that?”

“I’m already there Athos,” she pointed out with a bitter chuckle.

“You know what I mean.”

“And what exactly has age got to do with anything? You’re not even thirty-five. I could understand your concern perhaps if you were twice that.”

He didn’t answer her and they sat in their embrace in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said quietly.

He sighed. “I cannot say the same.”

And finally they were at the crux of the problem. His stubborn belief that everything he touched went to hell.

“When you were married were you a good husband?”

“Yes.”

“Did you love her?”

“Too much.”

“So what exactly do you think it is about you that made her what she is?”

He didn’t reply.

“You do realise how stupid your logic is? She was the person she is long before she wormed her way into your life Athos, so this insistence you have that you are responsible for making everything go wrong is just nonsense.”

“Charline...”

“You _can_ promise you would never hurt me. I know you, Athos. I know how good you are, how loyal you are. You are just determined to be unhappy,” she was getting annoyed now, and she let him hear it.

“You are making a lot of assumptions about what I even want, are you not?” he asked.

She went cold for a moment, then realised that of course he was trying to push her away again. “No I’m not. Look at us Athos, look at the other day. You cannot deny what you felt when you kissed me, you cannot deny what you felt or the harm you put yourself to when I was in trouble today. It’s taken me a long time to even consider that you could feel anything for me, and now that I know it you are not going to make me deny it.”

“You are a stubborn fool d’Artagnan,” he said gently.

“Yes, I am. But then so are you,” she twisted her head until she could see him. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, but you are. I can’t tell you how much it hurts that you won’t even try.”

He looked at her sadly. Her eyes widened as a thought hit her.

“Do you still love her?”

“Anne?” he looked incredulous. “Of course not.”

“Sorry, you just can’t seem to let her go, and that would make sense as a reason.”

“You think I could love her after what she did? After everything she’s done?” 

D’Artagnan shrugged – a rather awkward movement in such a tight embrace. “It’s not easy to stop loving someone, and who ever said that love makes sense? We can love people who have hurt us, just look at me.”

She stopped abruptly as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Had she really just said that? She averted her eyes from his and closed them. She couldn’t bear to watch his reaction to her unintentional declaration of her feelings.

“D’Artagnan?” he spoke softly, his hand moving from on top of hers to come up and grip her chin gently. He twisted her face a little until she was facing him as well as she could in this position. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He looked sad again, guilty as usual. “Then stop it,” she whispered.

He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Charline ignored the slight throb in her head to reach forward slightly and brush his lips with hers. His eyes shot open in surprise. She met his gaze steadily, watching as he battled with himself, his head and his heart clearly saying different things. The wait seemed interminable, until eventually he flashed her that beautiful crooked smile and brought their lips back together.

He released her hand and brought his hand up to hold behind her head, supporting her in this awkward position. She twisted her body, until she was kneeling in front of him. He smiled against her mouth before they both moved to deepen the kiss at the same time. Charline pressed her torso in against his as their tongues met, kneeling up so that she was slightly above him, changing the angle of the kiss. His hands came to her back, holding her tightly to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

She pulled away from him briefly, just checking that the expression on his face wasn’t suggesting that he was going to regret this later. He grinned at her.

“You seem a little more awake now,” he murmured.

She grinned back. “I think it’s probably a good thing that you are holding me up.”

His expression changed to one of concern and he opened his mouth to speak. She mock-glared at him then grinned again. “Oh shut up.”

She leaned back in and kissed him once again. There was no way she would every get tired of this. She would kiss him like this for the rest of her life if he would let her.

Gently he pushed her from him. “D’Artagnan, we should stop.”

She glared at him, but was relieved when he laughed. “You have a head wound, and you were unconscious not too long ago. I think you may need to keep breathing properly.”

Her glare turned into a frown.

He took her face gently in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Reluctantly, she leaned against him again. This time she curled on her side so that her head was tucked under his chin, smiling to herself when his arms came round her to hold her against him. She felt a kiss pressed into her hair.

“If you two have quite finished, would you mind telling us why you’re both covered in blood?”

Both of their heads shot up to look over at where Aramis and Porthos were standing leaning against the house. How long had she and Athos been kissing for that they hadn’t even noticed them arriving back?

She looked at the two of them, grinning like idiots at her and Athos, that wicked gleam present in Aramis’ eyes that told her she was in for some teasing later. Porthos just looked happy, almost peaceful, as he looked at the two of them together.

Athos’ arms tightened around her, surprising her when she had expected him to pull away in front of them, and she wished she could see his face. Instead she just settled for smiling back at her brothers.

“I had a bit of an accident,” she called over, her voice completely serious.

Athos snorted behind her and then suddenly they were both laughing, more so when Aramis and Porthos gave them identical looks that suggested they were insane.

Charline stopped abruptly when her head throbbed deeply and she felt dizzy and sick once again.

The feeling only intensified when another person appeared from behind the house, looking at all four of them in confusion, eyes narrowing at her and Athos.

“Charline? What the hell is going on?”

She sighed heavily as he made her way over to them briskly. 

“Hello Alain.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Lie still woman, for the love of God!”

Charline huffed and settled back onto the bed of blankets Aramis had quickly put together for her in one of the stable stalls. Aramis glared at her as she finally lay still, muttering about impatient patients, and the fine art of treating wounds. She ignored him. She even ignored the sting of him working on her head, unable to be distracted from her panic about what was going on outside.

Athos had seemed unconcerned about Alain marching towards them across the yard, his face grim. Instead he had called over to Aramis, indicating that he had a patient to be looked at. He and Porthos, both of whom had begun to walk towards them when Alain did, arrived at their side first, and crowded around her a little, blocking Alain’s access.  
Athos had quickly taken charge.

“Aramis, take d’Artagnan back to the stables and check her head please,” he said. “It’s stopped bleeding, but she lost consciousness. Porthos and I will be here should you need anything.”

With that he stood, gently pulling Charline to her feet and passing her over to Aramis, who placed an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the yard and through the field behind. As they left she heard Alain blustering.

“Now wait just a-”

“Monsieur, Charline requires medical treatment. Please do not get in the way, or I will have to remove you from her land,” Athos had slipped into command mode.

“And how exactly...?” he began to ask, before she heard the slight scraping that told her Porthos had just unsheathed his sword. 

She had heard nothing after that, and now she was desperate to get back and find out what was happening. 

“There, all done,” Aramis pronounced, holding her down when she automatically tried to stand. “Slowly! If you faint I will make you stay in bed all day.”

“I’m fine Aramis, I don’t feel dizzy anymore,” she growled at him, beyond frustrated.

“Now, now,” he admonished, eyes twinkling. “Is that any way to speak to me when I have just checked the safety of your skull? Now I will let you go, God knows I want to know what is happening out there just as much as you do, but you will stand slowly, and once you are up if you feel no dizziness then I will pronounce you fit to go, alright?”

She closed her eyes briefly, to avoid rolling them at him, before she spoke. “Thank you, Aramis.”

“That’s better,” he grinned at her before letting her go and watching carefully as she pulled herself slowly to her feet.

Reluctantly, she took a couple of seconds once standing to make sure her head wasn’t going to spin, then smiling at Aramis in triumph she marched towards the door. He quickly fell into step beside her.

“So do you think your men will be fighting over you?” he teased.

“Oh shut up,” she groused, not admitting that was almost what she was expecting to find, until she remembered that Athos was Athos, and he would not get carried away like that.

“Well from what it looked like earlier we’ve definitely moved on a step or two from a few days ago...” he nudged her with his elbow, nearly sending her flying.

Groaning, she picked up her pace and walked ahead of him, trying to hide the blush that was rapidly spreading all over her. She heard him laughing behind her as she stepped out of the stables and stalked away. This was exactly why she had been glad she only had sisters when she was growing up.

An interesting mixture of relief and disappointment hit her when she arrived in the yard to find Athos and Porthos had gone back to working on the house, and Alain was nowhere in sight.

She stopped short, Aramis almost stumbling into her when he arrived a few moments later.

“Damn, did I miss it?” he shouted, walking over towards the house.

“Miss what?” Athos asked, dragging some debris from the building.

“The duel!” Aramis exclaimed, earning him a raised eyebrow and such a look of derision from Athos that Charline found herself giggling behind her hand. She walked over to meet them, just as Porthos also appeared from inside the building with a pile of rubbish.

“That comes later,” Porthos said as he dropped his pile on top of the rest. 

“Sorry, what?” Charline asked, entirely confused.

Porthos grinned at her while Athos just shook his head and went back into the building.

“He left pretty quickly when he saw my sword, but he’ll be back later with his own.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I didn’t. He did, as he left,” Porthos’ grin got even wider. 

“Oh for the love of-” d’Artagnan cut herself off and threw up her hands in exasperation before she began pacing across the yard, fully aware that Aramis and Porthos were both watching her in amusement.

“Problem, d’Art?” Aramis asked casually.

“Yes!” she shouted, rounding on them both with her hands on her hips. “Men! All of you! All of this male posturing nonsense gets you nowhere. Why on earth would Alain think that charging up here with a sword was going to do anything other than get him into trouble?”

She stood glaring at both of them, eyes narrowing when they both burst out laughing at the same time.

“Probably for the same reason you thought it would be a good idea to arrive at the musketeers’ barracks and challenge our best swordsman to a fight to the death,” Porthos pointed out.

Blushing furiously, she kept her defiant stance and spoke steadily.

“And what ‘reason’ do you think that would be?”

Porthos shrugged. “Love? Defence of what you see as yours? Pride?”

She sighed. “Fine,” she gritted out. Suddenly she was pointing a finger at both of them. “But if he comes back, I speak to him first, got it?”

They both held their hands up in a gesture of surrender, but ruined it slightly by grinning at her.

“Am I the only one around here with any work to do?” Athos said as he appeared back out of the house with yet more rubbish for burning.

Aramis and Porthos jumped to work, announcing that they were going to continue to fix the roof as they disappeared round the other side of the house to the ladders.

Athos was still standing in the yard, looking at her carefully.

“Alright?” he asked.

She smiled back at him. “Absolutely.” 

He flashed her a quick smile and her whole body warmed over in an instant. She hadn’t realised in the distraction of Alain that underneath there had also been fear of seeing Athos again, away from the moment they had shared earlier. She was used to him changing so quickly in both his moods and his attitude towards her that she wouldn’t have been overly shocked to come back and find him cold and distant. This didn’t seem to be the case though, if the warm expression on his face as he made his way towards her was anything to go by.

When he reached her he wrapped an arm loosely around her waist, his other hand pushing her hair back gently to inspect her head. She wound her arms around him, her hands clasped lightly at his back, still a little nervous about what exactly their situation was. He made her feel a little better when his hand clasped the back of her head and he held her tightly to him.

“You’re not running away,” she said softly.

“No. I’m not,” he said simply, tightening his grip on her. She sighed happily, burying her face into his neck and breathing him in. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“Which part?” she asked sweetly, pulling her head back to look at him. “Your mood swings, my stubbornness, the fact that we still need to deal with your murderous ex-wife, the way we’re going to fight at least once a day, my would-be suitor, or the huge factor that when we get back to Paris I have to go back to being Charles?”

She waited a beat for him to react, not quite sure what she was going to get, then his mouth split into a wide smile and he laughed. He actually, fully and joyously laughed. She gaped at him until he caught her mouth with his in a sweet kiss.

“I think you just about covered it,” he deadpanned.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alain never reappeared for the rest of the day. Porthos was quite convinced he had been bluffing, and Aramis agreed with him. Charline was sure that something had come up, but he would be back as soon as he could. Perhaps he was trying to persuade his father and brother to come with him.

The only challenge that faced d’Artagnan for the rest of that day was dealing with Aramis.

She was immediately suspicious when he kept yawning through dinner. It was late and they had been working hard, but as he had been fine about five minutes before she was instantly sure he was up to something. A glance at Athos, sitting across from her, confirmed that he also had his suspicions.

The yawning, it emerged, were just a prelude. They were his excuse to go to bed first, while everyone else finished up, washed dishes in the stream, and dampened down the fire. Porthos was the next one ready and he quickly slipped into the stables without offering to help d’Artagnan and Athos.

“What do you think we’re going to find when we get in there?” she mused quietly as they walked slowly towards the building a few minutes later.

“Knowing Aramis?” Athos smiled at her. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Porthos obviously didn’t know either. He looked like a little boy off to sneak a look at a birthday gift.”

Athos chuckled then reached out to take her hand. “Well, let’s face it then shall we?”

She nodded. “Whatever it is, we just act like it doesn’t bother us,”

He squeezed her hand in reply and they opened the doors to the stables and walked in. Closing the doors carefully behind them, by unspoken agreement they took their time wandering around to check on all of the horses before they made their way to the ladder. With a nod of his head Athos indicated that she should climb first, but she frantically shook her head. He was going to get to deal with whatever was up there first. Besides, this way she got a nice view as she climbed.

Laughter was her first instinct when she stepped into the hayloft. She looked to Athos, who was standing to the side of her surveying the scene, and saw that he’d had the same instinct. It was when she thought about the ramifications of it that the smile slipped a bit.

Aramis had completely reorganised the hayloft. In the half hour or so that he had been up here alone, he had managed to create two separate areas, one of which was basically two beds against the back wall, which appeared to have a ‘sleeping’ Aramis and Porthos in them. On the other side of the loft Aramis had piled up hay to create what could only be described as a bedroom, with a newly made double straw bed, on which were spread out her and Athos’ blankets in case they were in any doubt who was to sleep there.

How on earth was she going to get any sleep tonight, so close to Athos?

Athos shook her out of her worry by taking her hand once again, and leading her over to their bed. Aramis had obviously assumed that they would separate it into two beds again as he had left plenty of space to do so. Charline, however, knew that both she and Athos were far too stubborn to do any such thing. 

She had a mild panic at the thought of undressing in front of him, but Athos turned his back when they arrived next to the bed and began undressing. Quickly, she did the same: stripping off her skirt, untying the corset and removing it and the petticoats until she was clad in just the long underwear and chemise. A glance behind her told her that the shirt she had been wearing at night had been oh-so-helpfully left out for her. She grabbed it and slipped it on.

“Ready?” Athos asked softly behind her. Charline turned round and saw he still had his back to her. He had apparently been waiting for her to give the all-clear before he turned round.

“Ready.”

He turned and gave her an encouraging smile, which she returned before crouching down to slip into the bed. Athos lay down next to her, lying on his back as she had.

Well, this was awkward.

They lay in uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Charline really wanted to turn around and wrap herself around Athos, but he was being so gentlemanly about the whole thing that she wasn’t sure how he would react. She also wasn’t sure if hugging him wouldn’t make what she was feeling worse.

“Oh, forget it,” Athos suddenly whispered beside her, before he reached over and grabbed her furthest away arm and rolled her over until she was pressed into his side, an arm wrapped around her and her head resting on his chest. “Alright?” he asked quietly, clearly unsure.

“Perfect,” she whispered back, looping an arm across his waist and squeezing him into a hug.

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. “Now, go to sleep.”

The smile on her face stayed there until she did.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Warmth was the first thing she was aware of as she woke the next morning. The next was Porthos, loudly announcing from somewhere in the distance that he and Aramis were going to make breakfast. That was when she remembered that sleeping arrangements had been altered somewhat the night before, and realised that the warmth was in fact Athos, whose front was pressed against hers as they lay facing each other, arms slung across each other.

She opened her eyes and saw that Athos still had his closed, although he was smiling at Porthos’ attempt at subtly waking them up. She grinned at the peaceful look on his handsome face.

“Morning,” she said, forcing him to stop pretending to be asleep and open his eyes. He smiled at her when he did. “I suppose we should get up too.”

“I suppose so,” he said, closing his eyes again.

“Hey!” she said, swatting him on the shoulder. “You’ve got a house to rebuild, remember?”

“Hmmm, yes,” he mumbled, reaching up to pull her face to his and kissing her. “Morning.”

She giggled softly. She could get used to sleepy Athos; he was very, well, cuddly. Somehow she knew this wouldn’t last long once they were up and about.

“So, time to get up?” she asked, laughing when he shook his head and pulled her in for another kiss. “What is wrong with you this morning? You’re usually up before everyone else.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her softly. “I’m not usually this warm in the mornings.”

“Oh.”

She thought of him, waking alone every morning to the memory of Milady and what she had done, determined to stay alone and miserable forever. She smiled sadly at him and reached forward to lean her head against his. She let out a squeak when he suddenly rolled onto his back, bringing her with him to lie on his front. He reached up and cupped her face in his hands before kissing her deeply.

D’Artagnan decided to take advantage of this carefree and affectionate Athos before he woke up properly and disappeared. After all, she was in no hurry.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was another four days before Alain returned to d’Artagnan’s farm. Four days of peace, and work, and finding out how considerate and affectionate Athos could be when he was relaxed. They slept side by side every night, waking wrapped around each other in some way, and he had taken to splitting his time between working on the house and helping her in the fields and with the animals. She was coming to love their time working side by side; doing something together that didn’t involved swords and pistols was making a nice change.

On the day this welcome peace was finally shattered, the roof was finally rebuilt and Charline had finished with the little amount of livestock she had left and come down to the yard to join the musketeers while they watched the thatchers Porthos had found in the village working on making the roof secure.

“How long did they say this would take?” she asked as she came to lean on the cellar wall beside them.

“Anything from five days to a week,” Porthos answered. 

She opened her mouth to ask Porthos what he had promised to pay them but stopped as she heard a horse making its way up the road towards the house. 

With a sigh Charline pushed herself away from the wall. “If that is Alain, let me deal with him,” she said, her orders clear. It didn’t stop them following her as she made her way around the house to meet him just as he dismounted. She stepped forward, the others hovering at the corner of the building, swords and pistols attached as they had been since his last visit.

“Good afternoon Alain,” she said as he approached her. She placed her hands firmly on her hips. “Can I help you?”

“No,” he said rudely. “I am here to settle a score with the man hiding behind you.” His eyes slid over to glare at Athos, who chuckled in response. She turned to see Porthos and Aramis both grinning at Alain.

“I’m not entirely sure which gentleman you are referring to,” she said innocently. “But I can assure you that none of them are hiding behind me.”

He looked at her stupidly.

“In fact, they are standing over there because I insisted on standing in between you and them, but believe me it is not for their protection, but yours.”

He laughed at her, but she ignored it.

“Perhaps if you told me the problem, we could deal with it in a more civilised fashion?”

Alain’s eyes narrowed. “That man over there,” he sputtered, pointing his finger harshly over her shoulder. “Had his hands on you, even though I told him that you and I were betrothed. It is a matter of honour Charline, my honour.”

“Alain, do you really think that after you left I didn’t tell them the truth?” she asked incredulously. “Do you think I let them keep thinking you and I were to be married when it was most definitely not the case?”

“But he, he thought we...”

“No he didn’t Alain, and you know that. Your problem is with me, not with them.”

“Who the hell even are they? You show up here with three men in tow, and no explanation?”

Charline flushed in anger. “They are my friends, Alain. My brothers, and my protectors.”

“You expect me to believe that you travel the country with three men, and all of them are nothing more than brothers to you?” he asked sceptically.

“I expect you to believe what I say, and not to automatically think the worst of me because I turned you down.”

“You humiliated me,” he practically spat at her.

“Your own fault, Alain. I am sorry though, for what it is worth,” she said softly. She could see that he was hurting, and she couldn’t help but feel saddened that she had apparently lost such an important friendship.

“I cannot believe that you turned me down for him, for them.”

“That is not why Alain, you know that. You need to stop this.”

“I’m glad your father is not here to see you like this Charline.”

She saw red for a split second before she let her fist fly and caught him hard on his left cheek. Eyes burning with tears, she ignored his pained expression as he regained his feet and stood to glare at her.

“Leave Alain, now.”

She turned and walked away, letting Aramis wrap an arm around her as she reached him, while Athos and Porthos both stood and glared at Alain. A glance at Athos was enough to show her that he was having difficulty holding himself back, but she was grateful that he was trying so hard to do so.

“So you’re onto the second one already?” Alain’s pained voice cut across the space. “When does the third one get his go?”

Everyone froze for about two seconds, before Athos broke out of it and launched himself across to Alain and grabbed hold of him fiercely by the collar.

“You speak to her like that again and I will break you, do you understand?” his voice was low and menacing. Alain nodded once. “Now, when you wake up you will get back on your horse and leave, and we will not see you here again until you are ready to apologise. Remember it.”

With that he let go of the collar and swiftly knocked Alain out with a punch that would’ve felled Porthos. She winced as he fell like a sack of vegetables at Athos’ feet, but she was surprised to find that she felt nothing but satisfaction about it. Well, satisfaction and a sudden need to kiss Athos like she had never done before.

Porthos and Aramis seemed to melt away from the scene, leaving Athos and d’Artagnan staring at each other in silence. He stepped over Alain and moved to make his way towards her, but she didn’t let him. Instead she ran the few steps until she could launch herself into his arms, where he caught her and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him as well as she could in the cumbersome dress she was wearing and smashed her lips to his, making him laugh even as he returned the embrace.

“If he wakes up you are going to negate everything you said to him you know,” Athos pointed out between heated kisses.

“Don’t care,” she answered breathlessly. 

“I thought you’d be angry,” he said, and she pulled away from him to look at him in puzzlement. He shrugged. “You like to fight your own battles, and you’re not too fond of chivalry.”

Grinning, she kissed him once more. “I’ll let you away with it this time. Besides, you would’ve done that for Aramis or Porthos.”

“If Aramis or Porthos rewarded me like this I might think twice about it,” he said. She threw back her head and laughed. He gently put her down then pulled her face to his for a long kiss. “Come on. We better move, or I won’t be able to stop.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if that would be so bad, but instead she let him lead her by the hand back round to the yard, fighting down the heat that had pooled in her stomach just a few moments ago. 

They took their place against the cellar wall beside Porthos and Aramis once again. If the thatchers had heard anything they were giving nothing away, and Porthos and Aramis said nothing about the blush on Charline’s face, or the swollen lips on both their faces. 

They didn’t even say anything when Charline moved away from the wall to stand in front of Athos, leaning against him as he wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her against him, burying his nose in her hair.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! So sorry this has taken so long. Have had a weird couple of weeks, so it took me away from this and then I wasn't really in the mood for writing so it took a little while to get back into it. 
> 
> Not entirely happy with it, but I don't want you to have to wait any longer.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos! Really appreciate them.
> 
> B xx

As the days continued to flow by, Charline found herself getting more and more restless as she couldn’t escape the feeling that this new state of peace and quiet, and even happiness, could not last.

She was, of course, correct.

Over the next few weeks following Alain’s little visit nothing of any particular note happened, beyond Aramis’ messy adventure with some animal waste that had him on his back in a rather smelly field and complaining of his clothes and skin reeking for a couple of days afterwards, despite the number of times he disappeared to bathe in the stream.

Porthos kept walking by him and sniffing before moving quickly away, causing Aramis to sigh and begin to strip as he walked to the water once again.

Strangely, the teasing of Aramis stopped quite abruptly after the large spider incident which had Porthos suddenly remembering that he needed to go into the village for some supplies and making a hasty retreat out of the half-tidy farmhouse.

Charline almost expected this to be followed up with a spider of similar size finding its way into Porthos’ bed, but when she questioned the lack of a teasing follow-up Athos quietly explained to her that Porthos’ fear of spiders ran fairly deep, and Aramis had only made the mistake of teasing him about it once, a long time ago. Later, Aramis showed her the scar on his arm.

Bertrand and Jacques appeared back to continue their assistance two days after Alain had been sent home with his tail between his legs, and a pounding headache, and said nothing about it. Essentially, life on the farm continued as it had been.

Soon they had been at Lupiac for over a month and everybody seemed to be painfully avoiding talking about the rather large milady-shaped darkness that loomed over them. Charline had noticed that at no point since they arrived had Aramis and Porthos disappeared to the village at night, suggesting that for all that they had all insisted that they would be safe here at her childhood home, nobody was quite willing to take the risk and split their group into smaller numbers.

This did have the negative effect of a lack of time for Charline to be alone with Athos, meaning that after a month they still hadn’t really spoken in any more depth about the feelings that clearly ran between them. She would, however, be eternally grateful to Aramis for his little joke, as she had been sleeping securely in Athos’ arms for weeks now, and she wasn’t sure she had ever been so happy in her life.

Which was why she was beginning to get to frightened.

The inevitable happened six weeks to the day after they had arrived, in the shape of a letter from Treville. Mail had been sparse, which was expected when nobody was supposed to know where they were, but d’Artagnan had received a couple of letters from Constance, sent carefully through the musketeers’ mail, and Treville had been sending regular updates of what was happening in Paris under a false name and in a code that only he and Athos seemed to understand.

On reading the captain’s letter on this particular day Athos face was gradually darkening, at the same time as his body tensed from his jaw down. D’Artagnan watched the progression with growing alarm, a feeling which she saw was shared by Porthos and Aramis as they too watched Athos reading the correspondence. They had just finished their lunch, sitting at an old kitchen table and chairs that Porthos had found and set up in the yard a couple of weeks ago. Some civility until the house was ready to live in, apparently.

“Athos?” Porthos asked quietly. 

The man in question sighed loudly, throwing the letter on the table before looking at d’Artagnan with such a look of anguish in his eyes that she wanted to climb into his lap and hold him. She settled for reaching out to rest her hand gently on his leg beside her.

“It’s time,” Athos said. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Immediately, every one of them tensed a little and leaned in, as if worried that the cows or the chickens would overhear their conversation. The farm would be forgotten this afternoon, the house left in its current empty state. Today they had to begin their plans to deal with Milady and the cardinal, and there was clearly something about the plan that Athos already didn’t like.

“What did he say?”

Athos folded the letter slowly and toyed with it between his fingers as he spoke. “She is still trying to gather information on d’Artagnan. The Bonacieux house has been broken into and looked through more than once now, and on one occasion one of the barracks stablehands loitering outside the house was given money in exchange for information, and the promise of more if he would keep an eye on the house and let Anne know when the ‘young musketeer’ returned.”

“Why is she so focused on d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked. “If this is about you, then why is she targeting her?”

“It appears that she believes that bringing d’Artagnan into her confidence will give her access to me. She thinks that she will find a way to kill me through separating us, and she thinks that d’Artagnan is the perfect target to do that.” He looked at her and gave her a shallow smile. 

“Do we have confirmation of this?” Porthos asked.

Athos nodded. “Treville’s man in Richelieu’s house finally managed to hear a snippet of conversation between them. He’s never seen Anne in person, but he has heard her, once. She must be getting desperate if she’s making mistakes like that.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing.”

Everyone was silent for a few minutes as they thought over the information they had. It wasn’t much, but it showed them that Milady was very much still focussed on them, and that d’Artagnan was her strategy as they had feared. Charline couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her.

“So now we just need a plan,” Aramis murmured.

“Treville has made a suggestion,” Athos said quietly, his voice gruff and tense.

“Being?” Porthos raised an eyebrow at Athos’ unhappy tone.

Athos raised his head and looked at Charline. “That d’Artagnan lets herself be taken into Anne’s confidence, and helps her plot to kill me.”

Charline’s mouth fell open in shock, and she looked around the table at the three faces who were all staring back at her. Her shock was echoed in the faces of her brothers, while Athos’ held nothing but concern as he watched her reaction.

She cleared her throat and squeezed his hand quickly. “Well,” she said. “Shit.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The dark was almost oppressive as d’Artagnan lay awake that night, tucked securely at Athos’ side, as usual. She was exhausted after a long afternoon of discussion and planning, which had spread well into the evening before they called a halt for the day, but still she couldn’t sleep.

“Athos?” she whispered. 

He made a quiet but inquisitive noise beside her, telling her he was also awake.

“How long until we have to go back?”

She heard him turn his head towards her in the dark, felt his lips brush her forehead. “Until our plan is ready,” he said softly.

“A week? A month?” she asked hopefully.

“As soon as possible,” he breathed, before tightening his arm around her and pulling her in even closer. She smiled as he held her, glad that he had recognised her disappointment at having to leave this all behind.

“Okay.”

She lifted her head briefly and pressed a kiss to whatever part of him it was she could reach. She thought it was perhaps somewhere on the left side of his chest. Listening to him breathe soothed her racing thoughts for a while, but when she realised that he was in fact asleep she started to get unreasonably annoyed that he had managed to do it while she still lay awake in some turmoil. This brought her thoughts back to Milady.

All of the plans they had discussed had attempted to circumvent the captain’s idea of d’Artagnan defecting to Milady’s side, but nothing they had come up with was going to work as well as his suggestion. She had watched as Athos got more and more frustrated throughout the day as nothing else stuck as an acceptable plan, then finally calming as she had put on a show with being okay with it, with having confidence in her ability to convince the murderous cow that she was on her side.

Her confidence wasn’t quite as firm as she had suggested, but she was damned if she was going to lose face as a coward now, after fighting for so long for her place beside them.

The problem was that there now needed to be a reason why she should want to be away from the musketeers, and help plot to bring them down. So far they had had no luck.

When Charline finally fell asleep she found herself once again in a nightmare, searching the streets of Paris for Athos, only to find him dying and her unable to help him as his wife kept her away and made her watch.

The hayloft was empty when she awoke with a start, and she was glad that none of them were there to see her tear-drenched face. 

As she calmed herself down she realised that the sense of foreboding that filled her was not going to be going away until this whole thing was finally over.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the plans unfolded and the discussions continued over the next week Charline became aware that Athos was once again pulling away from her. The only time they were together was when they went to bed at night, and then they curled up together without speaking much at all. 

Athos insisted that they started training again after a month with no fighting to speak of. After a couple of days it became obvious that Athos wasn’t going to spar with d’Artagnan, instead pairing her constantly with Porthos and Aramis and watching carefully as they trained.

Her hurt at his pulling away didn’t last long. She quickly realised that this was his way of coping with what was to come; he was strictly in business mode, and making sure they were fully prepared for the fight of their lives.

On the sixth day Aramis reluctantly suggested a plan that all of them hated, but none of them could argue their way out of.

“She’s going to have to believe you hate each other,” he pointed out reasonably.

“He’s right. You said yourself she’d taken an interest in the bond between you Athos, that she would use d’Artagnan to hurt you,” Porthos chimed in. “If she’s noticed that bond she is never going to believe that d’Artagnan just gets bored and goes looking for adventure on her side.”

“You are suggesting that we hurt each other, on purpose,” Athos said wryly.

“No, I’m suggesting that you hurt d’Artagnan, she gets pissy about it and kills you by mistake.”

“No.”

“Athos-”

“No! I am not going to shoot d’Artagnan, Aramis, for God’s sake!”

They watched as Athos stood abruptly from the table and walked away from them, apparently refusing to discuss it any further. Porthos and Aramis turned to look at d’Artagnan.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to...” Aramis made a walking gesture with his fingers.

D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. “You want me to follow Athos and persuade him to shoot me?”

Aramis looked a little shamefaced for a second, before he nodded.

“I didn’t come up with this plan lightly d’Artagnan, I have no desire to see you hurt. But the only way is for something to happen that would get you banished from the barracks, and what other way is there?”

“She could shoot you,” Porthos said with a smile. She smiled back at him.

“Now that sounds better.”

“Charline, I-”

She held up a hand. “Aramis, it’s fine. I now it’s the only way to make it work, not that I’m particularly looking forward to getting shot, but I’m not the one who is going to be difficult about this.”

“I know, I know,” Aramis shrugged. “I just think the best person to persuade him is not going to be me.”

“The only reason he walked away is because he knows we have to do this,” Porthos added gently.

“I know,” she sighed. She looked over to where Athos had disappeared; back up through the field to the stables. She pushed herself up from the table and slowly walked after him, pausing briefly before she turned into the field and out of their sight.

“If I’m getting shot for this then I think you should start thinking about how you are going to make it up to me,” she said sweetly, before heading more quickly after Athos.

He was exactly where she expected him to be; in the stables and brushing down his horse. It seemed to soothe him when he was stressed about something, although today he was brushing pretty furiously. The horse seemed to be frozen, as if it knew better than to push him today.

She watched him for a few minutes, admiring the way the muscles in his back moved under his shirt as he worked.

“Are you here to speak to me or just to watch?” he suddenly asked, not pausing.

She started for a second, but soon recovered. “Well I came to talk, but in all honesty I was enjoying the watching too.”

He stopped and turned to smile at her, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. She stepped into the stall and stood next to him, making no attempt to touch him and waiting for him to speak. He just stood and looked at her for a while, searching her face for something. 

“You’re actually alright with this,” he said after a while.

“What?”

“You’re not scared, you’re not angry.”

She shrugged. “Aramis is right; it’s the only convincing way that we have to do this.”

Athos reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly in a way that he hadn’t done for several days. She breathed him in, her arms winding up around his neck as he dipped his head and rested his mouth on her shoulder.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, the sadness in his voice bringing a lump to her throat. She reached over and lifted his head, kissing him softly.

“I need you to stop her from hurting me,” she murmured. “And this is the only way we have.”

He chuckled. “You realised how little sense this makes.”

“I know,” she said, a grin splitting her face. “But I trust you, and you need to trust that I can do this.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I do, I know you can do this d’Artagnan. I just...”

She reached forward a little to kiss him when he trailed off.

“Don’t underestimate her,” he said, his voice suddenly fierce. “She cannot be trusted for an instant, and you cannot turn your back on her.”

“I’m not going off with her tomorrow Athos,” she said softly, stroking his face. “And I am well aware that the woman is a snake. I’ll stay out of the strike range, don’t worry.”

This time he leaned down to kiss her, deepening it instantly, their hands roaming as they blocked everything else out. A snort from the horse in the stall broke them apart a few minutes later, an unflattering stream of giggles to erupt from Charline.

“I think maybe we’ve invaded his space for long enough.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Athos agreed, pulling her by the hand out of the stall. He made his way towards the door of the stables, but she tugged on his hand to stop him.

“Wait.”

Her heart was pounding as he turned to look at her questioningly. She didn’t say anything, but gave him a soft smile before changing their direction towards the ladder to the hayloft. He pulled her gently to a stop before she started to climb.

“D’Artagnan...”

“Athos, if we have to leave here tomorrow and get back to reality, then I want to do this before we go,” she sounded confident and determined. Only one of the two was entirely accurate. “You know how I feel about you Athos,” she said, blushing. “I kind of gave the game away on that one a while ago. I just want to show you that.” She didn’t add that she was scared that if everything went wrong this could be the only chance she had to take this step with him.

He didn’t say anything. He seemed to be waiting to see if she was going to change her mind, but after a few moments he just smiled at her and pulled her in for a searing kiss that brought the burning sensation back into her stomach and proved to her once and for all that this was most definitely the time to do this. She broke off the kiss and grinned at him before climbing quickly up the ladder, giggling as he hurried after her. As he stepped into the hayloft he reached over to where she was standing and grabbed her round the waist, kissing away her squeal as he lifted her and carried her over to their bed, her hands coming up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He tried to lay her down gently, but d’Artagnan pulled him down on top of her, capturing his mouth once again with his.

“I’m not an angel,” she murmured to him. “You won’t break me, don’t worry.”

He answered her with a growl and caught her hands to pin them above her head. They paused, Charline looking up at him expectantly, flushed and panting already, while he smiled softly down at her. “Good to know.”

He let go of her hands as he kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling at his shirt while he started untying the laces of her corset.

This. This was what she had been waiting for – an opportunity to show Athos how much she loved him, and how worth it he was. And she was going to savour every moment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They left Lupiac the next day, as soon as Bertrand arrived so they could tell him and ask him to continue his work on d’Artagnan’s farm until she got a chance to come back and sort everything out. He was concerned to let her go, with these men who he still didn’t know and obviously didn’t trust, but he trusted her judgement and let her leave without too much protesting.

By mid morning they had left the village behind, and were well on their way. They were taking a different route back, just in case anyone was waiting for them anywhere they had been seen as they left Paris. The road was dusty, but lined by trees on either side as it wound its way across the countryside. D’Artagnan rode ahead of the others, quiet and distracted by the feelings of leaving her home once again, and of going to face what lay ahead. There were still details to iron out, and it was all going to take time and preparation to make work, but she was nervous as if arrival back in Paris meant immediate action. 

She was also getting angry at her fear, and the thought that the others would notice, and what they would immediately think of her. Little d’Artagnan, the weak link.

“Nice dress.”

She jumped a little in the saddle when he spoke quietly beside her. She turned to look at him, a look of innocence on her face.

“Well, I just thought seen as it was my last day in a dress for a while I might as well wear a nice one,” she said. “Besides, I’ve always looked good in green.”

“I remember,” Athos nodded, his gaze on her blatantly admiring as he looked her over, causing her to blush.

“Alright?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I’m fine,” she said bluntly, a spark of anger shooting through her. “I just want this all over with.”

“It’s going to take us a week to get back, d’Artagnan,” he pointed out. “We can’t let it distract us, there’s no point.”

“I know,” she said shortly. 

“We can find another way.”

“No, we can’t,” she insisted, tensing up a little.

“D’Artagnan...”

She pulled her horse to a stop. “You said you knew I could do this, are you doubting me now?”

“That’s not what I said,” his eyes narrowed a little at her tone.

“It’s what you think though,” she snapped, all the time willing herself to stop this sudden and unreasonable anger at him. She knew where it would lead.

He was looking at her blankly, unwilling to be drawn into this unnecessary argument.

“Well, isn’t it?” she couldn’t stop herself. The tiniest hint that she wasn’t up to this task had coupled with the fear she was trying to hide from herself and turned her into a stubborn, argumentative idiot. 

“None of us would want to do what we are suggesting you do,” Athos said calmly. His calmness just infuriated her.

“I said I am fine Athos! I’m not scared,” she lied, her voice rising. “I just want to get this done, get your bloody wife out of our lives and then maybe we can move on with our lives without her hanging over us, and you can get her out of your head!”

She watched him bristle at her accusatory tone. Everything about her speech blamed him for what they were facing, and she instantly wanted to take it back.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry; I don’t know where any of that came from, why I got angry...”

“You got angry and defensive because you are scared d’Artagnan,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t care what you said, but you are of no use to me, or any of us, until you deal with your fear. Do you think she won’t notice? Do you think you won’t give yourself away in two seconds? I can practically smell it from you, and every time you lash out because of it you make all of this even harder.”

He kicked at his horse and rode ahead, leaving her gaping after him as he disappeared out of sight.

“He’s right you know,” Aramis said as he pulled his horse to a stop beside her. “You need to use this week to talk to us about what worries you, let us help you. Attacking him when he tries to talk to you about it is not going to get you anywhere.”

“He also lied,” Porthos added, stopping on her other side. “He does care about what you said.”

She refused to look at either of them. All she had achieved by letting her temper take over was proving that she was the weak link. She was emotional, stubborn, and scared. Not the best combination.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. 

“We know,” Porthos said quietly. “But so are we, and so is he. Do you think he wants you to go with her? Do you think he wants you anywhere near her?”

“I suppose not,” she sighed.

None of them spoke for a few moments, until Aramis rolled his eyes and reached over to nudge her with his elbow. “Go and speak to him, you stubborn wench.”

Charline turned to him and hooked up an eyebrow. “You call me a wench again Aramis, and I will do my best to turn you into one.” With that she kicked her horse on, leaving Aramis spluttering and Porthos laughing behind her. She found herself smiling too; they had a strange knack of being able to cheer her up, and she was extremely grateful for it.

Her smile disappeared when a shot rang out ahead of her, startling the birds in the surrounding trees and sending them spiralling into the air. It stopped her short, reining her horse in long enough to whisper Athos’ name before she spurred the animal into a full gallop. Porthos and Aramis went past her at speed, having moved immediately into action at the sound of the gun. 

D’Artagnan raced after them, her heart pounding as a second shot rang out into the air. Not now, this couldn’t happen now.

It seemed like an age before they reached the bend in the road that would hopefully give them a view of Athos, but in reality it was only a matter of a few seconds.

Vaguely, she remembered to pull out her pistol from the waistband of her skirt as she rode behind the musketeers, praying quietly that her life wasn’t going to end with a devastating sight when she rounded the bend.

What she did face when she got there stopped her dead behind Aramis and Porthos, still mounted but stopped and looking down the road ahead of them, pistols raised.

She looked between them to see what was ahead, her heart hammering in her throat, and swallowed a gasp of horror. Athos’ horse was lying in the road, bleeding from a wound in its neck.

Athos was nowhere to be seen.


	23. Chapter 23

D’Artagnan slithered from her saddle and staggered after Porthos and Aramis as they launched themselves into the trees. She assumed that they had heard where the shots had come from, or had seen something in the dust on the road that told them where they must go. She had no such insight as it had taken her a few more seconds to focus her mind on what was happening in front of her. 

Another shot rang out in the distance.

Now her mind was surprisingly clear. She was used, she supposed, to being in such situations, but it was not often that Athos was the one in imminent danger. Over the last few weeks, as her feelings for him were realised and then intensified, she had thought that if something like this ever happened she would fall to pieces, and prove them all right that these situations were no place for a woman.

It appeared that her training was going to stand her in good stead, however. Her legs were shaking with fear and she could barely swallow past her heart that was most assuredly caught in her throat, but her hold on her pistol was sure, and her other was poised and ready to pull out her sword. She was determined that she would be able to help.

Porthos stopped suddenly in front of her, causing her to stumble a little, and curse the dress she was wearing that made her unsteady legs even harder to move with.

“What?” Aramis hissed.

Porthos held a finger up for a second of silence, then indicated that something was ahead of them. Without talking, the three of them crept away from each other, d’Artagnan’s feet suddenly placing themselves surely upon the ground. Porthos pointed to a tree near her and she obediently took her place tightly beside it, ignoring the headstrong part of her brain that was screaming at her to rush in and find Athos.

She watched, hardly breathing, as Aramis took his place a little away to her left, before Porthos somehow managed to move silently so that he was the closest of the three of them. She saw him pause and strain forward, as if he was trying to listen to something. 

He must’ve heard something he didn’t like, as suddenly he was gone, leaping from behind his tree and running ahead, his pistol firing shortly afterwards. Aramis was after him instantly, his pistol firing barely three seconds behind Porthos’. D’Artagnan bolted forwards as soon as she saw them move, running after them as quickly as she could with her skirts trying to wind themselves around her. 

Seconds later she was in a small clearing, a small scene of chaos spread out before her. Two men were lying, presumably dead, at either side of the clearing, apparently shot as they had been trying to run at Porthos and Aramis. Porthos was now fighting another two with swords at the far side, while Aramis was wrestling with a third in the middle of the space, his sword still hanging at his side.

Athos wasn’t there.

Shaking him from her head, d’Artagnan ran forward, shooting one of Porthos’ opponents in the side, causing him to immediately slump to the ground, staring at her in disbelief as she ran towards them, kicking the wounded man’s sword away before drawing hers and joining in Porthos’ fight.

“Aramis,” she said to him quickly, and Porthos left her to go and help his fellow musketeer, who was tiring in his fight against his huge adversary. 

The man who Charline fought was skilled, but he was nowhere near the level of any of the men who had trained her, so she dispatched him quickly, the look of shock on his face as she ran her sword through his gut almost amusing. He obviously hadn’t been expecting to be beaten by a girl.

“Drop it, now,” she heard a voice say fiercely behind her. She froze for a second, thinking it was aimed at her, until she realised it was Aramis who had spoken. She heard the soft thump of a weapon hitting the ground, then turned slowly to see that the man she had shot had dragged himself to his feet, and had evidently been sneaking up on her with his sword, until he had been noticed. Aramis now held him by the throat, Porthos casually reloading his pistol beside him. Charline watched as they marched the man backwards and slammed him into a tree, causing him to groan loudly, clutching at his frantically bleeding side.

The bear-sized man that Aramis and Porthos had taken on by hand was either unconscious or dead on the ground, most likely the latter, and d’Artagnan stepped carefully over him and approached the others.

“Where is he?” Aramis was demanding, his face almost pressed against the other man’s pallid one.

“Who?” he rasped out.

“The man whose horse you shot when you and your crew of scum tried to steal from him,” Aramis spat. “Where is he?”

“He...ran,” their captive breathed, glancing at Porthos who was now pouring powder into his pistol, agonisingly slowly. 

“Which way?”

The man was obviously weakening. He was dying, and suddenly he realised it. He grinned at Aramis, broken, brown teeth revealed by his dry lips. “Don’t worry...the others will have got him.”

D’Artagnan felt the colour drain from her face. Aramis shook the man angrily, demanding he tell them where they had gone, but he just chuckled softly before losing consciousness. Aramis dropped him disgusted and they left him to die.

Porthos’ weapon was suddenly refilled and he reached for the others’. “Quickly, we have to move.”

Charline nodded dumbly.

“Shit,” said Aramis. “We don’t know how many went after him.”

“Why wouldn’t they all go?” d’Artagnan asked quietly.

“Three of them had injuries. They were obviously making their way back here from something when they spotted Athos.” Porthos said, a look of disgust on his face. “Come on, we need to find which way he went. Go.”

Again in an unspoken agreement they spread out, this time around the clearing as they looked for a sign that a chase had come through here. Charline fought down nausea and tried not to think about what they might find next, concentrating instead on looking for scuffs and footprints in the dust.

“Here!” Aramis called. D’Artagnan was next to him in seconds, Porthos arriving right behind her. 

They followed the line of Aramis’ pointing finger to a tree just outside the clearing. Charline gasped as the same time as Porthos swore beside her. The trunk of the tree was wet, and it looked like blood.

“It may just be from the horse,” Aramis pointed out softly.

“But if not...” Porthos trailed off with a glance at d’Artagnan, not wanting to voice what they were all thinking. The injured thieves had been left behind, so if the blood was human they knew exactly who it belonged to.

Aramis was the first to move, diving into the woods ahead of them and moving with speed through the trees. Charline understood as she followed that now there was little time to think about stealth. They were armed, and they were alert, but with the possibility of Athos injured the priority was to get to him as quickly as possible.

A flurry of thoughts were battling in her head as she ran after them, but she welcomed them to stop her eyes scanning the trees in a panic for more blood. Thoughts of the last month with Athos were foremost, coupled with the terror that she might never get to experience any of it again if they didn’t get to him in time. 

Fleetingly, the horrifying thought that Athos, wherever he was, may possibly be thinking that this was his punishment for daring to be happy for a moment passed through her head, almost bringing her to a stop. She shook it out and ran faster, flying over tree roots and half-buried rocks as if they weren’t there.

When they found Athos she was going to be with them, no matter what state he might be in when they got there.

She held in her groan when she suddenly ran into Porthos’ unmoving back. Peering round him she saw that Aramis had come to a stop ahead of them and was now walking much slower, and quieter, around the trees. They followed.

“Here!” Aramis cried abruptly, running forward and throwing himself onto his knees on the ground. Porthos and Charline followed, and quickly saw what Aramis had thrown himself next to. A man was lying face down, a bloody sword skewered through his midriff and sticking out of his back like a flagpole.

Athos was lying underneath him.

“Help me Porthos,” Aramis said quickly, and the two of them heaved the dead man off of their friend. D’Artagnan’s hands twitched; she desperately wanted to thrown herself next to Athos and check him over. His face was far too pale and he wasn’t moving. She stayed trembling to one side and let Aramis do what he needed.

She and Porthos watched as his hands roamed over Athos, checking carefully for any obvious injuries. It was difficult to see at first glance if the blood that covered him was his own or belonged to the man who was currently lying where Porthos and Aramis had left him, Athos’s sword still sticking through his gut.

Gently, Aramis lifted his friend and rolled him to one side, checking for injuries. Charline’s heart stuttered when he cursed gently. 

“Porthos,” was all he said. The big musketeer gave d’Artagnan’s hand a quick squeeze before he dropped down next to Aramis and helped him turn Athos over.

“Is he...” she couldn’t say it.

“He’s unconscious,” Aramis said shortly, digging into the pack he always carried around his waist. “He’s alive, but weak. I need to get this shot out of his shoulder.”

Then she saw it. Athos’ left shoulder was a bloody mess, and was seeping blood that he obviously could not afford to lose. “What can I do?” she asked quickly.

“I need the rest of my things, get them from my saddle bags.”

“I’ll go with her,” Porthos said, standing.

“No,” Aramis said swiftly, glancing up at her. “I’ll need you to hold him down if he wakes up while I’m digging this out.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said shakily, realising that while his request was real, Aramis was also trying to save her from seeing this. “I know where I’m going.”

She drew her pistol from her waistband and darted back into the woods. She had no real fear of being attacked as there could be none of them left. Surely they would have met them on their way? It didn’t take her long to reach the clearing, where she ran nimbly around the bodies they had left behind them and headed back towards the road. The horses were still where they had left them, now wandering confusedly at the side of the road. She noticed that Porthos’ horse was standing over Athos’ dead one, as if on guard. The others were warily watching.

With a lump in her throat at the sight of the dead animal she slowed her steps, approaching her own horse quietly and murmuring softly to it. Aramis’ horse skittered out of the way. As her hand reached for the bridle her horse began kicking at the ground a little, agitated.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re alright,” she said soothingly. “Come on now.”

Slowly, she stroked the horse’s neck until it calmed enough for her to climb gently into the saddle, hitching her skirts up so that she could ride comfortably. She chose to leave Porthos’ horse where it was for the moment, as it was looking at her in a way that made her think it would not come with her easily. Aramis’ horse had calmed and was easily taken by the reins. With one glance back at Athos’ fallen companion, she kicked her horse gently and led them quickly through the trees back to her musketeers.

Porthos was standing pointing his pistol at her as she cantered into their sight. He raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged with one shoulder. “I figured I would be back quicker this way,” she said as she jumped out of the saddle. She handed her water flask to Porthos before she ran round to get the medical supplies out of Aramis’ saddle bags. Aramis was already cleaning the wound with the water when she got to him.

“I’ve removed the shot,” he said, answering her question before she asked it. “I need to stitch it.”

The adrenalin from the shock of what was happening in front of her suddenly hit, and she staggered back until she came against a tree. She let her legs crumple beneath her until she was sitting on the ground, her back against the trunk and her head in her hands as she rocked there gently.

“Please, please...” she found herself whispering. He couldn’t die; not like this. In many ways he was the strongest of them all. There was no way that any deity could deem it acceptable for such a soldier to be brought down by a band of scraggly thieves, no matter their number.

She didn’t look up as somebody slumped beside her a while later. She knew it was Porthos when his arm came around her back and he pulled her round to curl into him. She grasped at his shirt, curling her fists into him and pushing her head between them, trying to hide the tears that had been streaming down her face since she had sat down.

“We just have to wait,” he whispered, and she was surprised to hear the tears in his voice as it broke. She was always taken aback by how these men loved each other. Pulling her head back she lifted her face and watched the tears track down his cheeks for a moment. Porthos was unashamed of them and was not attempting to wipe them away. Instead, he was staring over anxiously to where Aramis was obviously still tending to Athos.

Charline sat up and finally looked over. A blanket was carefully being placed over him by a sombre looking Aramis. Looking up, he caught her eye and gestured for her to come over. She was longing to, but at the same time had no desire to go there.

She turned her head to look at Porthos. “Your horse was standing guard.” 

He nodded in understanding then stood pulling her with him. He made no attempt to leave, however. Instead he stood, waiting for something. D’Artagnan left him to it as she straightened her shoulders and made her way over to where Aramis was still looking at her expectantly.

She chided herself for her fear as she moved, telling herself that she was not free to be selfish. If Athos needed her, then that was where she had to be.

Aramis stood as she approached. “He’s hasn’t woken,” he said. She nodded.

“He has lost a lot of blood d’Artagnan. The wound wasn’t fatal, but he could have been bleeding since the first shot we heard. We won’t know until...”

“Until he wakes up, or doesn’t,” she said dully.

“Stay with him,” Aramis said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Be alert.” She nodded again. He dropped a kiss onto her temple then walked away. She heard him speaking quietly to Porthos, then both of them leaving quickly. She knew they would not leave her alone for long, but they needed to get to Porthos’ horse, and to check that this was truly over and no one else was waiting in the shadows.

Athos was lying at her feet, face down on the ground and deathly still and silent. Her heart lurched as she thought about her nightmare, but she quickly realised that this was different in the most significant way.

This time, she could hold him.

She lay herself gently down at his side, looking into his pale face. She was anxious for his breathing lying here, but the presumably Aramis knew what he was doing by leaving him on his front. The blanket wasn’t quite covering his neck so she gently lifted it and pulled it a little further up, careful of the fresh stitch work in his shoulder as she moved it. She reached out her hand to gently stroke his grey face, trying to ignore the horrible feeling when he didn’t move or smile like he normally did when she touched him.

When Porthos and Aramis came back a few minutes later, trailing Porthos’ still twitchy horse and carrying the saddle bags from Athos’ poor animal, d’Artagnan was still lying in exactly the same place. She didn’t move when they called over to her, letting them come and see for themselves that there had been no change. He was still breathing, he was still paler than anyone should be, and he hadn’t moved an inch.

She heard Aramis sigh, listened to Porthos’ worried questions, and heard the weary resignation in Aramis’ voice when he replied. They had to wait. There was nothing else for it.

There was no attempt made to move her as they bustled around her, and she quickly understood that they were making a camp in the small space they had found themselves in. A fire was built and lit, near enough to give Athos some warmth, and soon the smell of meat they had brought from the farm cooking over it was swirling around her nostrils.

“D’Artagnan, come and eat,” Porthos cajoled her gently, calling over from where he was holding chunks of meat on a stick over the flames.

“No, I’m fine,” she replied, her voice dry.

“You need to eat something,” Porthos tried again.

“I said I’m fine,” she said firmly.

She jumped a little when Aramis snapped at her. “Come and eat d’Artagnan, don’t make yourself a burden.”

She moved her head and looked at him, surprised by the anger she saw burning in his eyes. Saying nothing more, she glanced back at Athos, stroking his face one more time, then stood stiffly and went to join them. She could still keep a careful eye on Athos from where she sat only a couple of steps away. Aramis was doing the same. Reluctantly, she took the stick that Porthos was offering to her and began to pick delicately at the well-cooked meat.

“Eat it d’Artagnan,” Aramis instructed.

“I can’t,” she said, her stomach quailing at the thought.

“You’re not the only one who loves him d’Artagnan!” he said even more sharply, catching her off-guard once again and making her gape at him. She glanced over at Porthos, who was looking sadly at Aramis.

“I know that...” she said softly.

Porthos spoke up. “You need to keep your strength up. Whether he makes it or, or not. You cannot make yourself weak now.”

Charline looked at him, tears filling her eyes, and nodded. She began to eat slowly, discovering in the process that she could manage it fairly well. She looked over at Aramis, who was eating steadily but looking entirely dejected. Reaching out, she grasped his arm for a moment.

“I’m sorry Aramis, I know you love him. I know you both do.”

He sighed and smiled at her tiredly. “I don’t mean to be harsh.”

“No, I know. You’re just looking out for me, like you always do.”

Charline started eating more quickly, determined to get back to Athos as quickly as possible. As she took her last bite a blanket was suddenly held out to her. She smiled gratefully at Aramis then moved back to settle herself once again at his side. She lay closer this time, pressing herself as far into him as she dared. His didn’t so much as twitch.

“Come on Athos,” she whispered to him. “Wake up, please.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouragement with kudos and comments guys, I really appreciate it!
> 
> Nearing the end now I think (for my sanity if nothing else!)
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> B x

The view from up here was simply breathtaking. Green fields and rolling hills stretched before her, the sun hitting the crests of the hills perfectly as it rose to warm the morning. Stretching out on the hefty branch underneath her, d’Artagnan rested her back against the still-damp bark, enjoying the way it scratched through her nightdress and her scalp through her hair as she bent her head back. 

The birds were singing intermittently, as if stopping to feed every few minutes, or to take in the view of the sun rising over the French countryside for themselves.

“D’Artagnan...” a voice called distantly. She ignored it. Instead she stretched her bare toes, watching as the sunlight crept ever closer until it began to warm her.

“D’Artagnan...”

The voice was still soft and distant, and she still ignored it. In an attempt to move away from it she stood suddenly, running nimbly to the end of the branch and leaping quickly to the next tree. She did the same several times over, but still the voice followed her.

She didn’t want to answer it. She knew where she was, and she knew what would happen if she answered. Last time she had woken up to her mother’s death. She was not going to wake up to such devastation again.

“Charline!”

Her eyes snapped open. Aramis was leaning over her, looking at her with concern that melted away as he rolled his eyes at her.

“You’re even stubborn in your sleep, did you know that?” he asked jokingly. “We have to move.”

“What? I don’t...” she turned her head to look at Athos, who she realised she was still tucked warmly against. He was still asleep.

“Aramis?” she asked shakily, sitting up with her eyes never leaving Athos’ face.

Hands grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Her head was turned gently until she was forced to look at Aramis.

“He’s just sleeping,” he said. “He regained consciousness for a minute or so earlier, but was out again before we could wake you. It’s a good sign.”

She glanced over at Porthos, who was packing up their belongings. He paused to smile at her reassuringly.

“Where are we going?”

“The next village,” Aramis answered. “We were only a couple of miles away, and we need to get supplies and to look after Athos somewhere warm.”

“Oh.”

“Go and help Porthos,” he nudged her towards the musketeer, and she went only slightly unwillingly, glancing back only a few times at where she left Athos.

Aramis had immediately knelt down at his side, and was quickly pulling back the blankets to check on the wound on his shoulder. The last time she glanced over he was gently trying to wake him and she longed to run back to be with him, but she knew that neither Aramis, Porthos or Athos would appreciate her abandoning her duties, however much they might do the same thing if it was her lying there.

Instead she moved about in a hurry, gathering up belongings and stuffing them into bags and saddle bags as she came across them. She heard Porthos chuckling a little at her as she flurried about beside him. In no time at all the area was clear, and she was hovering by Aramis’ side, who was still trying to wake Athos up properly.

“Do you need help?” she asked, fidgeting.

Rolling his eyes at her he asked her to help sit Athos up, which they managed by rolling him slowly over, Aramis supporting his shoulders so that his injury did not touch the ground unexpectedly. After a few moments of huffing and puffing as they turned him, Athos was propped up against Aramis, sitting on the ground, and beginning to groggily open his eyes.

“Athos?” d’Artagnan murmured, kneeling in front of him and reaching out to touch his face. His head was still drooping downwards tiredly, but he managed to lift his eyes enough to look at her, smiling weakly at her when he found his focus.

“Hi,” she said softly, her eyes welling up as she smiled back at him. He stared at her for a few seconds more, but closed his eyes again.

Charline looked up at Aramis when he sighed from his place sitting behind Athos. He caught her glance and explained quickly. “I hoped he would be more awake by now. We need to get him somewhere indoors, and make him eat and drink.”

Nodding her understanding, d’Artagnan swallowed her panic at Aramis’ concern and helped him to pull Athos gently to his feet. Porthos was next to them instantly, assisting Aramis as they tried to lift him, and laying him gently over the back of Porthos’ horse. It was the biggest of the three that remained, and would manage Porthos as well if need be. 

As Charline mounted to take her place at the rear of their small procession she tried her best to convince herself that everything was going to be just fine as she watched Porthos’ horse carry Athos slowly in front of her. It didn’t work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“D’Artagnan? Wake up, d’Artagnan.” Porthos’ voice and a gentle hand woke her from a thankfully dreamless sleep. “Are you listening?”

“Hmph,” she grumbled. It couldn’t be morning yet, surely? What was Porthos even doing at Constance’s house anyway?

“Come on d’Artagnan, I thought you’d be a bit more keen to see him.”

Charline’s eyes snapped open as she remembered where she was. For two days they had been staying at a nice inn, and Athos had been sleeping fitfully more or less the whole time. Aramis had been at his bedside throughout, making him drink when he woke for the minute or so at a time that he could manage. He wasn’t always fully coherent, but Aramis seemed satisfied that he was managing to drink something.

“He’s awake?” she cried, almost jumping out of bed. “You mean properly awake?”

“He is. Eating some breakfast as we speak.”

With a grin, she jumped up to kiss Porthos on the cheek before darting towards the door.

“D’Artagnan?” 

She paused to turn and look at him.

“Some clothes perhaps?” Porthos chuckled, glancing down at her bare legs. With a blush she realised that she was dressed only in her shirt.

“Perhaps,” she agreed. 

“I’ll see you in there,” Porthos said, leaving her to dress. She did so rapidly, throwing on the first things she could get to. It wasn’t until she was fully clothed that she realised she had dressed herself in her Charles outfit, minus the bandages. Looking down at herself, she shrugged. She grabbed the leather jacket and quickly tied up her hair, which she realised with a grimace she was going to have to cut before they returned to Paris now that it was tumbling past her shoulders.

Job finished, she threw open the door and hurried down the corridor to the door two away from hers. She paused outside for a breath before lifting the latch and stepping inside.

The room was brighter than it had been since they arrived, and she noticed that someone had flung open the window so that light and air were pouring in. Smiling at the change of atmosphere in the room she latched her eyes firmly onto the pale man sitting propped up in the room’s only bed.

“Athos,” she breathed, her eyes widening as she saw for herself that he was truly awake. A smile spread over her face at the sight of him with his eyes fully open, and focused, and the bread that was in his hand as he ate his first meal in days.

Porthos and Aramis immediately headed for the door themselves as she entered the room. Aramis looked thoroughly worn out, but he wasn’t too tired to tease her on his way past.

“Don’t wear him out please, he’s not strong enough.”

She slapped his shoulder as he winked at her, but he and Porthos just laughed as they left the room, closing the door gently behind them.  
Athos was looking at her carefully as he finished his bread. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Charline fidgeted, smiling at him a little shyly. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she admitted.

“As long as you don’t punch me in the shoulder, I think we’ll be fine,” he said dryly, before holding out an arm in a clear indication that she should join him on the bed. She didn’t need to be asked twice. 

Carefully, she slipped onto the bed so that she was sitting next to him, stretched out on her side with her body pressed against him and her head tucked onto his chest. She sighed a little as his arm came round her to hold her against him. She spread an arm across him and squeezed him lightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

D’Artagnan rolled her eyes, but then realised that he couldn’t see. “I’m not sure you’ve ever said anything quite so stupid in your entire life Athos.”

He chuckled beneath her, jostling her and making her look up at him. “Quite possibly true,” he said.

“Don’t do that again, ever,” she said firmly.

“I can’t promise that d’Artagnan, you know that,” he said softly, brushing a kiss to her forehead.

“I know,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes as she acknowledged the truth of the situation. He was absolutely right. He was the best soldier she had ever seen, and she had yet to come across anyone that she thought could beat him, but that was no guarantee. The last three days had proven as much. Stretching up, she brought her lips to his and kissed him with a sigh. “I missed this,” she whispered.

He pulled her closer with his good arm, deepening the kiss as he smiled into it. When Charline finally pulled away she tried to smile back at him, but was dismayed when her face crumpled instead and she couldn’t stop the tears.

“Sorry,” she said. “I hate crying.”

Athos smiled at her and reached over to wipe away her tears gently. “I’m not too fond of you crying either.” He pulled her in against him and settled back with her wrapped in his one-armed embrace. They sat that way for a few minutes in silence, until Charline opened her mouth and asked a question that she knew as she said it was a bad idea.

“Does it hurt much, getting shot?”

He tensed instantly beneath her and she cursed herself for her impulsive stupidity. 

“Like hell.”

“Sorry, we can talk about this later...”

“I’m not going to shoot you d’Artagnan. I won’t be responsible for you feeling like this. I won’t do it.”

Charline glanced up at him quickly and noted that his eyes were shut tightly, a frown marring his grey face.

“We’ll see,” she said quietly, brushing a kiss against his chin. He didn’t move or respond, so she settled herself back against his side and hoped that she would be able to keep her foot out of her mouth until he was feeling better.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was another two weeks before the four of them rode into the yard of the musketeer garrison as the sun was beginning to rise, d’Artagnan clearly sulking at the back of the group as she rode in behind the others, glaring daggers at Aramis’ back.

Two of the stablehands were instantly there to take away their horses, listening intently to Athos as he gave them instructions for stabling his new, young stallion. Horses taken care of, the four of them climbed the stairs to Treville’s office. Again, d’Artagnan dragged behind, while Aramis did a good job of ignoring the scowls that were being sent his way.  
“You asked him to do it,” Porthos said quietly when he waited a moment to step in beside her.

She glared at him disbelievingly. “I did not ask him to do this!” she cried, reaching up with one hand to tug at what was left of her hair, which now rested around her chin. Kind of.  
Porthos chuckled at the look on her face. “Well, at least you don’t look like a girl anymore.”

She huffed loudly. “I don’t look like a man either, I look like my nephew!” Porthos just continued to chuckle at her. “Stop laughing, or I’ll make him do something ridiculous to your hair next time he cuts it.”

“Cuts my hair?” Porthos looked extremely confused. “I would never let that idiot anywhere near my hair!”

“What? But he... he told me he cuts your hair all the time!”

Porthos let out a roar of laughter, which brought Athos and Aramis to a halt as they reached the top of the stairs, and brought Treville out of his office to see what was going on. D’Artagnan marched up to Aramis, who was trying his best to look entirely innocent, and thrust her face into his.

“Be careful Aramis,” she warned him coldly. “Next time you are anywhere near me and I have access to scissors you better be careful.”

He just continued to look at her as if nothing was amiss.

“And it won’t be your hair I’ll be cutting off,” she hissed, then marched past him and into Treville’s office. 

She left the door open behind her and heard as Aramis chuckled for a moment but stopped when he apparently saw a particular look on Athos and Porthos’ faces. “What?”

“I wouldn’t put it past he-him,” Porthos said, remembering in time that they were back and d’Artagnan was no longer Charline. “Would you?” 

“Not for a moment.” Athos replied.

Charline smiled to herself and listened as they all filed into the office behind her. At least Porthos and Athos didn’t underestimate her. The fell into line beside her, and soon the four of them were standing facing Treville, who stood leaning against his desk in front of them.

“Well?” he asked.

D’Artagnan closed her eyes for a moment and sighed inwardly. This wasn’t going to go well, if the last week had been any indication.

Porthos spoke up. “Well, basically it starts with Athos threatening Milady, then shooting d’Artagnan, then her killing him on Milady’s say so.”

There were several beats of silence. 

“That’s your plan?” Treville’s voice was a mixture of confusion and sarcasm.

“Yes-”

“No,” Athos spoke firmly. “It was the plan, ridiculous as it sounds when you say it like that, but we are going to have to make some changes.”

“No, we don’t,” d’Artagnan spoke up.

Athos turned to glare at her. “Yes, we do.”

“What is this about?” the captain asked.

“I won’t shoot her,” Athos said.

“Yes, you will.” Charline argued furiously.

“No.”

“This has been going on for some time, Captain,” Aramis chimed in wryly. “As you can probably tell.”

“Shut up, Aramis” d’Artagnan mumbled.

“No I won’t,” he said angrily, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation and rounding on her in a way that made everyone stare at him in sudden silence. “I am fed up listening to you two arguing about this! If he won’t shoot you then we need to amend the plan, and that’s the end of it. You’re both so bloody stubborn! He’s not refusing to shoot you because he thinks you can’t handle it, so get off that high horse right now. He’s refusing to shoot you because it’s a bit difficult to purposely hurt the things you love. Would you shoot him? Would you? I didn’t think so.”

D’Artagnan, Porthos and Treville were all staring at him, mouths gaping slightly. Athos walked up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you done?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “Unless you’ll let me knock your heads together?”

“I think we’ll be fine without, thanks,” Athos said dryly.

“Well, sort yourselves out then. You’re driving me and Porthos crazy.”

Charline watched as Athos turned his head to look at Porthos, who nodded his confirmation.

“You bicker and snipe at each other like you’ve been married for years,” he said apologetically. “It’s not particularly easy to travel with.”

Athos turned to look at d’Artagnan, who was still staring at everyone not quite sure how to react to all of this. Should she be embarrassed? Should she be angry, and pointing out to them that they had been ‘bickering’ because they were obviously both anxious about what they were about to face? Athos answered the question when he caught her eye and grinned at her until an answering smile spread over her face.

“Fair enough,” he said, his eyes never leaving Charline’s. “I apologise for our behaviour. From now on we will try to keep our arguments for when we are alone. Agreed?”

She laughed. “Agreed.”

Aramis snorted. “As if that’s going to work.”

Porthos chuckled beside him. “And as if you two are going to spend your time arguing when you’re alone.”

“Have I missed something here?”

The four of them all turned their heads slowly to look at the captain, various degrees of horror on their faces. How on earth had they forgotten that he was there?

“Um, perhaps,” Athos said vaguely.

Treville sighed. “I’m really not sure I want to know.” 

Charline tried desperately to stop the blush that was spreading rapidly up her neck towards her face. She was losing the battle until she saw that Porthos was watching her with some amusement and her stubborn anger kicked in just enough.

“Let’s concentrate on sorting out this plan shall we?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Time to go home. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

“D’Artagnan, that’s the third time you have yawned into your wine. Time to go.”

She glared at him half-heartedly. “Everyone’s tired,” she pointed out, somewhat petulantly.

“Yes,” Athos said, raising an eyebrow. “And everyone will be going home soon, but I think you need to leave now.”

It was late in the evening, and the four had spent a long day talking through plans with Treville, before retiring to their most frequently visited tavern in an effort to make sure that Milady heard of their return sooner rather than later.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t usually walk me home, won’t that seem odd?”

“Not if I’m escorting you home because you can’t see straight enough to get there under your own steam,” Athos said, standing. “Let’s go.”

Glaring at him properly now, she immediately stood and slumped into him, pretending to be as drunk as possible.

“There’s not many people that know us who won’t think it odd that you are the more sober of us,” she muttered darkly as he slung her arm across his shoulders and grabbed around her waist.

“You’ve been drunk enough before d’Artagnan, don’t worry about that,” he replied, dragging her towards the door and out into the street. “Just be glad Porthos isn’t dumping you into the water barrel this time.”

Charline eyed the offending object as she passed it, shuddering at the memory of one of their first drinking sessions together. Drinking like a man was one thing her father hadn’t trained her to do, and it had been a long process filled with many headaches. Luckily she was quite a quiet drunk, or her secret would have been out rather a lot sooner. Turning her face away, she buried it into Athos and stumbled along beside him, letting him pull her towards the Bonacieux residence, and rather enjoying the opportunity to be so close to him when soon they were going to spend their first night apart in some time, without one of the being unconscious through blood-loss.

All too soon they reached the house, and d’Artagnan was relieved to see it shrouded in darkness. Constance had listened to her and extended her trip away from Paris then. 

“Do you have to leave?” d’Artagnan asked quietly as she made a show of slumping against a wall while Athos opened the door.

“Yes,” he answered. “But you’re rather drunk, so obviously I’ll have to see you right into the house...” 

She stumbled forward as he pulled her through the door and before she could blink the door was closed behind her and she was pressed up against it, with Athos pressed tightly to her front, and his mouth against hers.

Grinning as a moan left her mouth, she opened herself to his kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even tighter to her.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

He groaned against her. “Please don’t tempt me d’Artagnan. You have no idea how much I wish I could stay.”

“I think I might,” she said, pulling him back to her once again.

After a few minutes they pulled apart, panting and gazing at each other desperately.

“I have to go,” Athos said. 

“I know,” d’Artagnan answered, eyes dipping to the ground. A hand came out and gently lifted her face, his hand cradling her jaw as he looked at her, smiling.

“When this is over we’ll get you some lodgings at the barracks. I can’t keep doing this; it’s only going to get more difficult.”

“Okay,” she smiled back.

With one last kiss he turned and opened the door, pausing with his hand on the jamb. “Lock this up tightly once I’m gone. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I will. Goodnight,” she reached out a hand to touch his back.

He was almost out the door when he paused again, but didn’t turn back to look at her. “I need you to know Charline, whatever happens in the next few days, that Aramis was right. It’s extremely hard to purposely hurt those you love.”

With that he was gone, sweeping out into the night and leaving her gaping after him in the doorway. Had she imagined that or had he just said that he loved her?

Dazedly, she grabbed the torch outside the door and used it to light the lamp in the hall. She was barely aware of what she was doing as she hung the torch back up, using the lamp to see what she was doing as she followed his instructions and locked the door securely.

She wandered slowly down the hall, a smile spreading across her face as she realised that that was exactly what he had been saying, in his usual indirect manner of course. But he loved her, he really did. Suddenly, the need to get their plan into action and get Milady out of their lives flared until it was a hundred times stronger than before.

Opening the door to the kitchen, d’Artagnan didn’t bother lighting the lamps and just used the one she carried to find her way through the room, quickly checking it over before making her way to the stairs that would take her up to the comfortable bed that she suddenly realised that she had missed.

She sighed in relief as she opened the door to the room, but gasped as a hand suddenly wrapped around her throat from behind, cutting off her air as a knife was pressed into her back.

“What a touching scene,” a furious voice hissed in her ear. “I’m so glad I was here to overhear it. We have a few things to talk about, don’t you think?”

D’Artagnan just had time register the clawing smell of jasmine and lavender as she desperately gasped for breath before a pain ricocheted through her skull and everything went black.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again! I started writing this chapter straight after the last one, but the second half proved a little difficult! I suppose if I had planned any of this and wasn’t entirely making it up as it went along then it would be getting easier as we got towards the end...oh well.
> 
> As always, thank you for your encouragement, in all forms! Hopefully you're still enjoying this.
> 
> B xx

Nausea was the first thing that hit her, followed by a pounding headache then the cold chill that had taken over her entire body. She tried to slowly open her eyes, but the tiny amount of light that she opened them too made her head throb even further so she shut them again, tightly.

Charline took a few moments to try and work out what was going on. She couldn’t remember much, other than being at the inn with her boys; surely she hadn’t gotten so drunk that she felt like this?

Her head throbbed again and she reached her hands up to cradle it, hoping the chill of her skin would calm the ache. Except that she couldn’t. Her hands wouldn’t move. Frowning, she tried to concentrate on her body, and realised with some surprise that she was sitting up; definitely not her normal sleeping position. She couldn’t feel her hands particularly well, or her legs for that matter, but she could feel that her arms were stretched behind her back, trapped between her and whatever she was leaning against.

What on earth had happened? She tried, slowly, to open her eyes again, but froze almost instantly.

“You know, I was hugely confused by that little scene with my husband,” a cold voice broke into d’Artagnan’s thoughts, sending a shiver down her spine. “But I’ve done a little...inspection...and I see now exactly what has been going on.”

She was getting closer. D’Artagnan finally opened her eyes, and glared furiously at the approaching figure of Milady de Winter.

“You and I are going to have a little fun, I think,” Milady said sweetly, smiling at d’Artagnan with pure malevolence. 

“If you touch me, I will kill you,” Charline growled back, clenching and unclenching her fists behind her, as she tried to slowly move her legs. She must get her mobility back. 

Milady laughed at her, the sound echoing around the empty room that d’Artagnan darted a quick glance around. It was stone, cold and, judging by the steps that led to the only door she could see, slightly underground. 

“Oh I do love that you think you are any sort of match for me, sweetheart,” Milady walked towards her and gently touched her face. Charline wrenched her head to the side, ignoring the pain that shot through the back of her skull as she did.

“I told you not to touch me,” she spat.

“Such fire!” Milady said delightedly. “Such courage! No wonder he thinks he loves you. He likes a bit of strength in his women, you know. You fit the pattern beautifully my dear.”

D’Artagnan scowled as Milady almost danced away from her, displaying her grace for Charline in a blatant effort to incite a jealous rage in her. D’Artagnan forced herself to keep calm.

“You don’t,” she said viciously. “He’s not overly fond of cold, murderous bitches.”

Milady was back in her face in an instant, an elegant hand gripping d’Artagnan’s chin tightly enough to be painful. A knife was suddenly in Milady’s hand and it was hovering too near to d’Artagnan’s face to be safe.

It wasn’t going to stop her, of course.

“What’s the matter?” she ground out through her squashed mouth. “Still got a thing for him have you?”

Milady’s eyes narrowed.

“Or is it disappointment that I turned out to be a woman?”

“Enough!” Milady hissed, letting her go but not before she pulled Charline’s head sharply to one side, causing her to cry out as the pain in her head increased once more.

“As if I could keep any feeling for that cowardly, useless creature!” she whispered, back in cold control. “And you? You were nothing more than a way to get to him.”

Charline snorted.

“As soon as I saw you I thought you could be useful to me,” Milady explained. “And then you said his name and I knew that you could be. I could bring you into my power, as I have done with many men before, and I could use you to get to him.”

“Except you couldn’t.”

“No,” Milady wandered casually over to the steps up to the door and sat down elegantly, playing with the dagger she still held. “I have to admit that your ability to resist me was intriguing. It heightened my desire to get to know what I could about you, and then your obvious attachment to my darling husband, and his to you, made you the perfect way to get close to him.”

Pins and needles were shooting through most of d’Artagnan’s body now, and it was agony. She continued mercilessly to move her hands and her legs, as inconspicuously as she could. She had to keep Milady talking, however much she didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

“Then why send Labarge to kill me?”

“Oh,” her voice was airy and casual as she waved a hand dismissively. “I was bored of you by then darling. “

“And yet here you are...” d’Artagnan said dryly, now beginning to pull slightly at the ropes that bound her hands behind her back.

“You survived,” Milady shrugged. “And then you disappeared, him and all of his little friends. The perfect way to catch my interest. I couldn’t believe you were that important to him. But now I know why, you little slut.”

D’Artagnan tried not to think about what had been done to her while she was unconscious for Milady to discover her secret. Instead she looked at her enemy nonchalantly and shrugged. “I’m more important than you, that’s for sure.”

Suddenly Milady was fiercely angry again, not moving but pointing the dagger at d’Artagnan from her place on the steps a few feet away.

“He tried to hang me, did he tell you that?” she said, her voice menacing and low. “He refused to believe that his brother had attacked me, that I acted in self defence, and he had me hanged. Luckily for me he didn’t stay around to watch. I knew he wouldn’t, he’s never been one to take responsibility for what he does to people.”

“Shut up,” Charline said, as threateningly as she could. She could bear listening to this crazy cow talking about Athos like that. Milady just laughed at her again.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe he tried to have you hanged, he told me. I don’t believe that you for one second are not entirely to blame for Thomas’ death. You’ve not exactly proven yourself as anything other than a bloodthirsty lunatic, have you?”

Milady was on her feet, and back in d’Artagnan’s face. “He made me into this,” she hissed. “He did this to me!”

Charline forced herself to stay calm, and raised an eyebrow mockingly. “You keep telling yourself that, love, and anyone else who will listen. We both know that you were crazy long before you met him.”

The look on Milady’s face convinced d’Artagnan in that moment that she had taken things too far. She braced herself for a knife to the gut, but suddenly the muffled but loud sound of church bells pealing changed the look on Milady’s face to one of wicked happiness.

“Ah, morning is here,” she said, stepping away from her captive. “Now the fun begins. I can’t wait to see his face when he realises you’re missing. Panic, do you think? Perhaps murderous rage? Either way, the end is coming. But first, I must go and see my patron.”

With that she swept up the stairs and out into the daylight that she briefly let into the room on opening the door. Charline gaped after her in horror, powerless to stop whatever was going to happen.

Frantically, she began to pull harder at the ropes that bound her, sobbing as she realised that no matter how hard she pulled she was making no difference whatsoever. Eventually, exhausted by the effort, she slumped in defeat. Her frustrated sobs abated and she was left seething in fury – at Milady and whatever hellish plan she had cooked up to make Athos suffer and at herself for being so dazed by him that she hadn’t noticed the presence of someone else in the house.

While she was at it, she reserved some of her fury for the fact that she could do nothing but sit here and wait to be rescued. “Like a bloody damsel in distress,” she muttered. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She was dozing lightly when the footsteps announced someone’s arrival in her prison. Snapping her head up, d’Artagnan expected to see Milady or the Cardinal walking towards her, but instead there was a man she had never seen before, with a young girl trailing behind him. The girl was looking at Charline curiously, while the man had a lascivious grin on his face as he walked over to her and sat himself on the floor in front of her, folding his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. His chin came to rest on his clasped hands.

Charline glared at him.

“Fascinating,” the man said eventually.

“What?” d’Artagnan snapped.

“Oh, feisty. I like it. She was right about you,” he said, laughing. 

“You’re a friend of Milady’s then,” Charline stated dully.

“Oh, where are my manners?” he said apologetically. Charline scowled at the pantomime of it. “I am Sarazin, and this is Celine.”

“She must be worried if she’s calling in backup,” d’Artagnan said, making an attempt to sound mocking.

“You really are quite beautiful,” Sarazin said, ignoring her posturing. “Although I can see how you fooled everyone, certainly.”

Celine looked at her like she would happily kill her herself. She placed quite a lot of importance in Sarazin then – interesting.

“Imagine what the King would say,” Sarazing continued, pulling a wine bottle out of Celine’s clutching hands and taking a long draught.

“About what?” 

“If he knew that he had been deceived, been made to look a fool no less, by his precious musketeers. Dearie me,” he winked at her before tipping the bottle back for another drink.

D’Artagnan froze in horror. “Is that her plan? To expose the truth and get the whole regiment hanged?”

Sarazin laughed. “Nothing so simple, I imagine. But I don’t think we can deny the possibility of it as a secondary plan, do you? Certainly not if she tells Richelieu what she knows...”

Charline’s mind started whirring with all the possibilities of how this could play out. At this point she couldn’t see a way out, or a way of stopping the cardinal finally getting rid of Treville and every last one of his men, unless Athos, and Porthos and Aramis, were willing to ignore her current plight and carry on with a new version of the plan to take care of the twisted minister. Somehow she doubted it. She couldn’t imagine agreeing to such a plan if Athos were the one held captive. Her heart sank.

“Are you here to kill me?” d’Artagnan asked bluntly.

“Not yet, my dear, not yet.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said fiercely.

“You should be. Now Celine here will take of your every need. I have a few things to do, but I’ll be back later when it’s time to kill you. So pray it won’t be soon,” he said smoothly, reaching out to stroke a finger down her cheek. She pulled her head away and spat at him.

Reaching up a hand to wipe away the spittle on his face, Sarazin thrust his face into d’Artagnan’s menacingly. “I am going to enjoy killing you.”

She watched as he stalked out of the room, shoving the bottle he held into Celine’s waiting arms, but ignoring her attempt to get his more personal attention. As the door closed behind him, Celine turned and gave Charline a look that held back none of her hatred of this woman who had obviously sparked Sarazin’s interest, and instead concentrated on getting her revenge by sitting down in front of her and gradually draining every last drop of wine from the bottle.

D’Artagnan would have scoffed at such a poor attempt at vengeance if she had not suddenly realised that she was really quite thirsty, so she scowled hatefully at the girl, ignoring the twinges of pity that she felt as she let her mind wonder about the girl’s youth, or where she had come from, or what kind of life she had been forced into. She shook such thoughts out of her head, as it did not do to dwell on such things, especially when the girl was quite happy to be part of the plans for her death.

Her scowl faded as she realised just how inebriated the girl was, and how much more so she was getting, as the wine steadily disappeared. Celine’s eyes were drooping as she reached the dregs of the bottle, and d’Artagnan watched in disbelief as the girl slumped to the ground unconscious in front of her, letting the bottle roll out of her fingers until it landed at Charline’s feet.

Was it really going to be this easy?

Using her feet to pull the bottle closer to her, she eventually managed to manoeuvre it enough that she could place it beneath her heel. Raising her boot, which she quickly thanked God was new enough to be solid and sturdy, she sharply brought the heel down, making a crack in the green glass. Smiling, she did it again, being careful to pull her wait back so that she did drop her foot into the glass as it broke. The last thing she needed was to slash through the softer leather above the heel, and do herself a serious injury.  
She sighed in relief as the bottle broke, and using her heel scraped a piece of glass towards her, twisting herself as she tried to push it round and underneath her until she could reach it with her fingers. Gingerly, she picked it up, wincing as she received her first cut as she gripped it as tightly as she dared. This was going to get messy.

Gritting her teeth, she started to cut at the ropes, swallowing down each cry that came to her lips as she caught her skin or sliced into it. She started whispering prayers that she wouldn’t cut too deep.

With a cry, she finally cut through the ropes, and quickly brought her hands round to her front, grateful that the earlier numbness seemed to have slowed the blood a little. Knowing that the blood flowing from both wrists would soon speed up, she quickly tore strips from the bottom of her shirt and tied them tightly around her. 

That done, she checked Celine, and when satisfied that she wouldn’t wake any time soon she ran quietly up the steps and slowly opened the door. There was no one outside. Clearly, Milady trusted very few people, and had foolishly placed that trust in Sarazin.

Stepping into the street, d’Artagnan was astonished to find that she was more or less in the centre of Paris, and not far from the garrison. She wasted no time in thinking about it, and moved quickly into the crowd of people who were swarming the market stalls. It must be around midday. She pulled a hat from the head of a man standing arguing over the price of cheese, tucking it against her belly until she was out of his sight. It took him a few seconds to notice it was gone, and his protests were heard from a safe distance by the time he started yelling them.

Her eyes darted around her constantly, checking that she wasn’t being watched, and she saw no one. The hat pulled low over her head she picked up her speed and ran the last few streets to the garrison. A group of people was loitering outside the gates, arguing with a handful of musketeers, and she took the opportunity to move between them, entering the yard unseen in case anyone was watching. They wouldn’t recognise the hat anyway, and she now realised her jacket seemed to have disappeared. She would be getting that back.

The yard was crowded with musketeers. Treville had obviously called in every available man and they were all now milling around, apparently awaiting some orders. D’Artagnan moved to the shadows of the stable wall and looked around frantically for Athos. She couldn’t see him.

Her heart began pounding in her chest as she considered the possibility that she was too late, or if she wasn’t that she would never find them to warn them. They must take care of the cardinal, and they must do it now. Panic was beginning to set in when she heard a sudden roar the stopped all of the noise and the movement in the yard at one.

“I will not sit here and do nothing while d’Artagnan is being held by that woman!”

Clasping her hand to her mouth, Charline nearly laughed at the fury in Athos’ voice as he yelled from Treville’s office above her. He was here! 

As soon as the people in the yard began moving and murmuring together, she ran from her semi-hidden place in the yard and ran up the stairs. For a moment she wondered that no one had noticed her, but looking down at her clothes she realised that she had probably been mistaken for a stable boy.

Several voices were speaking at once as she opened the door to the office, so nobody noticed her for a moment as she stood there and drank in the sight of Athos in front of her. He had his back to her and was radiating anger and tension where he stood in front of the captain’s desk. His hat had been discarded onto it, where he had obviously thrown it in anger, and his hair looked like he had been running his hands through it in agitation.

Porthos and Aramis were flanking him, each with a hand pressed to his shoulder or his back in comfort. It was making no difference.

“Athos?” she called, over the din of the argument. Nobody turned towards her.

“Athos!” she shouted, closing the door loudly. Everyone in the room froze for a moment, then four pairs of eyes were on her as she pulled off the hat. “We have enemies you know, shouldn’t someone be watching the door?”

Aramis and Porthos began to laugh, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the captain smile at her, but she was looking at Athos, and he was looking at her as if his entire world had been shattered, and he had just woken from the nightmare. She smiled tentatively at him and within half a second she was crushed in his embrace, his hands wound tightly in her hair as his lips latched tightly on to hers. She didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, reaching up to hold his face and trying to push her lips even closer to hers.

A gentle cough broke them apart, but they didn’t turn to look at anyone else.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should never have left you there alone, I-”

“Ssh,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

He nodded, looking at her with eyes that were indescribably sad. She felt her breath hitch slightly as she looked at him.

“I’m going to kill her, I swear it,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. He lowered his voice a little. “Did she hurt you?”

D’Artagnan shook her head. “No, but...” she let go of his face and held out her arms to him, showing him the bloodied shirt that was tied round her wrists.

“Aramis,” he barked, even as his face paled at the sight. Aramis was at her side in an instant, followed quickly by Porthos and then Treville.

As she was made to sit down and her wounds tended to, she quickly filled them in on what had happened to her. By the time she was finished Aramis had cleaned the wounds, declared that they didn’t need stitches, and bandaged them tightly.

“There’s not much time,” she said. “The cardinal - she’ll tell him the truth. You need to take care of him first, and keep her away from him, if it’s not too late. I have to get back, I...”

“You what?” Athos asked quietly.

She stood and faced him, taking in the glare that was already forming on his face and squaring her shoulders to argue with it.

“It’s the only way. I have to go back. If she or Sarazin goes back, or Celine wakes up, and I’m not there she’ll go straight to the cardinal. Sarazin said he didn’t think that was her initial plan, so we have to hope that she hasn’t, while you take care of the cardinal.”

Athos didn’t protest, but his glare didn’t fade.

D’Artagnan sighed. “Look, I need to go back. This time I’ll be armed so I can defend myself if she tries to kill me, but I really don’t think she will – not in private.”

“What do you mean?” Porthos asked.

“She wants to hurt Athos,” she shrugged. “She thinks I am the best way to get her revenge, so do you think she’ll not wait to kill me when he is there? But we’ll be ready for her.”  
No one said anything as Athos lowered his eyes and turned his back on her with a sigh. He walked to the desk and picked up his hat, placing it on his head. Everyone just watched him as he moved purposefully, ending up back in front of d’Artagnan.

“Aramis, Porthos,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “I want an amended plan in two minutes for getting the cardinal to confess. That is when we leave. We will drop d’Artagnan off on the way.”

“Fine,” Aramis acknowledged, Porthos nodding beside him.

“D’Artagnan, with me. We need to make you look a little less...bloody.” 

With that he walked past her and out of the office and she followed meekly, grateful that he wasn’t going to argue with her, but just help her quickly. They walked along the top floor of the garrison until they were outside the room that he sometimes slept in and he opened the door and walked inside. She followed him seconds later and he was already going through a hamper in the corner, pulling out a number of dirty shirts.

Looking down at her bloody and torn one, d’Artagnan pulled it over her head slowly, careful not to get blood on it. “Nothing too clean,” she pointed out, turning her back on Athos to lay the ruined shirt on the bed. Hands wrapped around her waist a second later, sliding around her skin until she was held in a secure embrace, a shirt dangling from his hands in front of her.

“I hate this plan,” he whispered, kissing the back of her neck before dipping his forehead to rest on her shoulder. 

“Me too,” she whispered back. “But it’s the only way.”

Gently she prised the garment from his fingers, chuckling a little as she had to push him back to get it over her head. It was a little bigger than the other, but not too bad, and dirty enough to pass for the one she had been wearing before.

Ready, she turned to face him. He was gazing at her, that awful look of sadness etched on his face once again. She reached for him, kissing him gently when he came to her.

“This will all be over, today,” she pointed out gently.

He pulled her into a tight hug before pushing her away with a sigh. “Come on then. If we’re hurrying, we better go while I can still let you.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll sneak back down the way I came in,” she said putting the large hat back on. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“Alright,” he nodded.

She paused. “I love you,” she said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek before moving past him towards the door. His hand reached over her shoulder and held the door shut as she tried to open it. She turned to face him.

He looked intensely down at her, his face very close to hers as he backed her against the door. His lips sought hers again, the passion in the movement unmistakable and her knees were shaking when he pulled back and grinned at her. 

“I love you too,” he said. “And when this is over I am going to show you exactly how much.”

With that he pulled the door open, pulling her with it. She was gaping at him, and blushing, as he turned her towards the door, patting her on the backside and chuckling as he had to push her out of it. 

“Get a move on sweetheart. I’ll see you down there.”

The door closed behind her and she ran, trying to wipe the smile from her face, and failing until she remembered exactly why they were doing this. She slipped down the stairs and back out the gates, melting back into the crowd that had gotten smaller, but was thankfully still there.

She waited until she saw Athos, Aramis and Porthos, the now stony looks on their faces undeniable, and slipped away, trusting that they would see her and watch her back until she let herself back into the spider’s web. One would follow a few seconds later and tie her back up, and she would be left to wait. 

And pray.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!! Had to rewrite because it was supposed to be the end, but there was too much I wanted to fit in.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! Hopefully this penultimate chapter will keep you happy!
> 
> Thanks again,  
> B x

Aramis gave her a sad smile and a brief kiss on the forehead before he left her, her hands newly tied and a dagger hidden well inside both boots. She watched him go, suddenly mindful of the grave danger they were all in; not just her, and not just Athos. 

This had to work, whatever the new plan would be. They had to be safe.

D’Artagnan shifted until she was sitting more comfortably, her hands pressed between her and the pillar in a way that meant she could free them quickly if she was forced to. When, or if, she was cut free to be taken to the final battle, it would not be obvious that the ropes were strategically tied – they were still tight, but she had in her palm the end of a rope that would free her if she could pull it.

Celine still lay prone on the cold floor, but she was snoring now. Charline flicked her eyes warily between the inebriated girl and the door, unsure where the threat would come from first. She didn’t have too long to wait.

The door opened suddenly, making d’Artagnan jump, and Milady and Sarazin entered the room together, the latter almost immediately emitting a roar of rage as he leapt to Celine and lifted her to shake her roughly, slapping her hard enough to make Charline wince.

“Wake up!” he yelled in her face, her head lolling as she tried to focus on him. Milady just stood by the door, watching in amusement as the punishment was dealt. “Wake up, stupid creature!” He struck her again, letting her fall to the ground. This one woke her and she landed with a pained cry.

Celine immediately began sobbing, crawling on hands and knees towards Sarazin, who stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down at her in fury. “Please, Sarazin. I didn’t...she’s still here...no harm...”

“She could have escaped, you useless bitch,” his voice was quiet now, laced with a dangerous malice as he looked at her like a piece of dirt. The girl was crying steadily, and struggling to move as she continued her journey to him. Charline felt a stab of sympathy for the girl that almost choked her.

“Sarazin, please...” 

Celine was cut off with a cry as Milady suddenly pounced on her, dragging her up by the hair as she dipped briefly to pick up a bit of broken glass that d’Artagnan had earlier kicked back towards the girl to remove suspicion of her actions.

Within seconds Milady had Celine’s head pulled back into her shoulder, a large piece of glass held at her throat.

“What do you think Sarazin?” she purred, Celine whimpering and pleading quietly as she cried. “A suitable punishment for shirking her duties?”

“Sarazin, I love you, please...” Celine cried out as Milady jerked her in tighter by the hair, shutting her up immediately. 

Charline felt tears beginning to slide down her own face as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. She was desperate to intervene, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t face both of them, and if she pleaded for the girl from where she was then she was sure Milady would cut the girl’s throat just to spite her.

Sarazin stepped forward and looked Celine up and down, as if trying to decide what to do with her. Eventually he turned away, flapping a hand in dismissal. “She’s really not worth the mess,” he said, and Charline almost breathed a sigh of relief. “But I have no use for her anymore.”

“Sarazin,” the girl wailed again, desperately. 

“Get out, girl,” he said viciously, turning on her. Milady released her and she tried to throw herself at Sarazin, but he punched her and sent her reeling back into Milady. “Show her I mean it,” he said softly, and Milady grinned wickedly then brought the glass up and slashed down Celine’s beautiful face, blood immediately spurting from the wound as she screamed and brought her hands to her face.

“Get out before I kill you anyway,” Milady said, shoving the girl harshly towards the door, where she eventually stumbled up the stairs and out. “Try being a whore with a face like that,” Milady called after her, laughing to herself. Sarazin stared after Celine with a satisfied smirk, but quickly pulled the cork from another bottle of wine that he had brought with him and took several gulps.

Charline stared at her in horror as Milady’s wicked eyes came to rest on hers, widening happily when they saw the tears.

“Well,” Milady said brightly. “That was interesting. Perhaps even a preview of later events, what do you think, our young ‘musketeer’?”

D’Artagnan said nothing, refusing to give her the satisfaction, and just continued to glare at her.

“I’m so glad we came back to check on you,” her voice was oozing with sweetness as she approached d’Artagnan, slowly reaching out a bloodied hand and wiping it gently down her face. The smell of the blood made Charline want to retch, but she swallowed heavily and didn’t move. “Imagine what would have happened if you had been gone, my dear. I would have had to tell my patron the whole sorry tale then, wouldn’t I? And then every one of your comrades would’ve hanged – slowly.”

Charline forced herself not to react as Milady gave her the news she was waiting for. The cardinal did not yet know the truth about her, which gave them a chance of keeping the information away from the King. As long as her boys could find a way of silencing Richelieu, and keep him away from Milady until she was dealt with, they could come out of this misery at the other end, and get back to their lives.

She just had to make sure that this bitch didn’t kill her first.

Suddenly, Milady turned her anger on Sarazin, approaching him menacingly, the piece of glass still in her hand and being stabbed at him in the air. “You stay this time. We can’t afford another mistake from one of your fools, so this time you stay. I’ll be back when I have spoken to the cardinal and a plan is in place,” she hissed, the piece of glass turning to point towards Charline as she continued. “The little whore is to be in one piece when I get back, understand? No mistakes. She dies when I say so, and I won’t say until it can break him into a million pieces as he watches.”

Without looking in d’Artagnan’s direction, Milady swept out of the room once again, leaving her alone with a sullen Sarazin, who was still steadily drinking and was looking at her lecherously. 

Thankful that her tears of shock at the violence she had witnessed had finally stopped, d’Artagnan glared fully at him, trying hard to get enough of a measure of him to learn quickly how to play this. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, and she knew that he would happily kill her himself. He also didn’t seem to be scared of Milady, despite obeying her request and staying put. She had no idea what kind of drunk he was going to turn into, but she was sure it wouldn’t be a pleasant one. 

She couldn’t help it; she snorted as she realised that she was actually thinking to herself that she wanted Milady to come back, sooner rather than later.

“What?” Sarazin snapped.

She shook her head slightly, glad to notice that the pain from Milady’s blow that morning was receding. “Nothing.”

“You find this funny?” he asked quietly, slumping against the wall and sliding down until he was sitting against it. At least he wasn’t coming closer, however angry he seemed to be.

“What?” she snapped back. “Being tied up and left here with you, until she comes back to kill me? Hysterical.”

Sarazin was suddenly laughing. “Even now, you can’t stop yourself can you? The famous Gascon temper. I do so love me a living, breathing stereotype.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Although I suppose soon you won’t be – living or breathing I mean.”

She didn’t answer him, but he seemed keen to keep the conversation going. He waved his bottle of wine at her. “A drink while we wait?”

“No thanks,” she said, shaking her head fiercely. She was not going to invite him to get any closer to her. He shrugged in a ‘suit yourself’ gesture, taking more of the wine for himself.

After several moments of silence d’Artagnan decided that keeping him talking was a good idea; anything to stop him looking at her with greedy eyes.

“Why do you do what she tells you?” she asked casually. “You’re not afraid of her.”

“You think I spend my time following her instructions?” he raised an eyebrow, grinning. “She’s just as likely to be following mine. It suits me to help her, that’s all.”

“I would’ve thought anyone with half a brain would have stayed away from her.”

“You mean like your precious Athos?” he asked, causing her to blush as she realised what she’s said.

“He’s done pretty well at it since realising she was crazy,” she snapped.

“Since he thought she was dead you mean.”

D’Artagnan jutted out her chin, refusing to rise to the bait. He laughed at her before continuing.

“I have a fascination with beautiful things, what can I say? And if something can become beautiful _and_ deadly? Well that’s just an extra special treat, isn’t it?”

Charline shivered at the wistful look on his face, before her eyes widened slightly as he focused his gaze on her. She felt like the prey on one of the King’s hunts.

“If I’d got hold of you early enough you would have been perfect,” he said. “A wonderful addition to my little group. Just imagine how many times you could have done what she does; seducing rich men for my gain. You would have been irresistible, I’m sure.”

“I would never have worked for you,” d’Artagnan growled at him. “I would have killed myself first.”

“Ah well, you’d be surprised how even the best of hearts can be twisted to become bitter and murderous, my dear girl. Very surprised.”

“Somehow I doubt that Milady de Winter ever had the ‘best of hearts’,” she muttered bitterly.

Sarazin laughed softly. “No, you’re right about that. She has always been lethal, well before she met me, or your precious Athos.”

This was not exactly turning into the distracting conversation she had been hoping for, and Charline quickly realised that he was going to tell her absolutely nothing of any use at all. It hadn’t stopped him from looking at her in that uncomfortable way, but he hadn’t moved any closer so she decided to just stay alert, but trust that he would stay away from her as he had been instructed to do, as long as Milady wasn’t away for too long.

They lapsed into silence. Sarazin tried to engage her in conversation on more than one occasion, but she refused to answer his questions about Athos, or the Musketeers, and eventually she closed her eyes enough that in the gloom it would look like she was asleep, and he stopped. 

With difficulty, Charline forced her body to relax to keep up the pretence, but she continued to feel his eyes on her as she sat, waiting for her fate to arrive.

When the door was thrown open some time later, d’Artagnan genuinely jumped in shock. Before she could open her eyes to look for herself, she knew that Milady had arrived in a state of absolute fury. The screaming and cursing helped her to work it out.

“I hate that bastard,” she ranted as she flew into the room. “I am going to gut him, slowly, and I am going to enjoy every, single, minute!”

It seemed that her Musketeers had come up with some sort of plan after all. Charline would have smiled in relief, if Milady hadn’t advanced on her and pulled her to her feet by the hair, punching her hard enough across the face to send her reeling back into the pillar. Pain exploded across her face from her eye socket and she felt blood running down from her eyebrow. Apparently Milady had on some vicious jewellery.

“He thinks he can double cross me, that he can _win_? Well they may have the Cardinal safely out of the way,” Milady grabbed Charline by the throat and spat in her face. “But he won’t be so pleased with himself when he sees the state of you. I’ve given him an hour to come and meet us. That should be enough time to make a mark.”

For a moment d’Artagnan was aware of nothing but fear as Milady smiled at her, then backhanded her across the face, making sure she hit the same point on her face as before. Briefly, Charline contemplated the knives in her boots, but her heart sank as she realised that she was going to have to endure whatever the next hour brought for her. With Sarazin there she could not win over both of them, and even without his presence, the second blow had made her drop the end of the precious rope that could free her. 

She was on her own for this.

She closed her mind to everything as blows were laid into her. Milady was not as strong as others d’Artagnan had faced, but the pain was still excruciating as she was subjected to punches, kicks and slaps from the vengeful creature. She tried hard not to let the pain register as she was felled to the ground, refusing to even whimper as her body was beaten and abused.

Instead she thought of her brothers, fighting to bring this to an end, and she thought of Athos. She thought of the life they could have when this was over, of everything she was going to do to make him as happy as she possibly could for the rest of their lives. If she was given the chance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walking had become somewhat painful, but it didn’t stop Milady pressing her on with some haste as they made their way to what d’Artagnan assumed was the meeting point. They wound through the back streets, Charline stumbling over stones and detritus as she struggled to see out of her one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. She could feel the bruises forming on her legs where she had been viciously kicked, over and over, and at least three of her ribs were cracked or broken.

Her head pounded and she was dizzy with pain and panic. How was she ever going to be of any use in this final fight? How was she going to defend herself, or anyone else, if she could barely see straight? 

She began to pray.

Sarazin had been sent away during d’Artagnan’s beating, but with one of her ears ringing she had found it difficult to hear what his instructions were. From what she could assume he was going to engage his men, providing a small army to take on the Musketeers when they arrived. She had no doubt, though, that Treville would be doing exactly the same thing.

With one final shove, d’Artagnan stumbled into the tunnel at the end of the deserted market street they had arrived at, falling to her knees as she tripped over a stone she couldn’t see beneath her feet. Milady slipped behind her, holding her head up in an agonising position by the hair, a knife pressed to her throat.

“Any minute now, d’Artagnan,” she whispered from behind her. “Any minute now we will hear the sound of battle. You will hear the sounds of gunshots, of swords clashing, of screams of agony as men die. Do you think you will recognise Athos if he screams in pain? Maybe he won’t, maybe he’ll make it this far. We have to hope, don’t we? We have to hope he’ll make it this far, so that he can watch you die before I kill him.”

Tears slipped from d’Artagnan’s one working eye as she listened to the rambling threats. She was starting to doubt that any of them would survive this, and she was even starting to doubt that she could remain conscious for long enough to find out.

She did stay awake long enough to hear the start of the battle. It seemed only moments later that they heard shouts and the first shot of a pistol, followed by a barrage of others. Charline tried to listen, to discern one noise from another. She tried to hear enough to work out if her boys had indeed brought back up, or if anyone was getting closer to where she and Milady stayed out of the way in the tunnel. But the waves of dizziness and nausea were making it difficult to focus. 

She cried out in shock when Milady pulled her roughly to her feet what felt like hours later, the pain of her bruised and battered body jarring through her once again. 

“Move,” Milady hissed. D’Artagnan obeyed, edging towards the market street with no idea why she was being moved. Her answer came moments later when they came face to face with Athos, Aramis and Porthos. She glanced at them quickly, long enough to see the horror on their faces as they took in her state, before the dizziness forced her to close her eye. Her legs gave out again and she felt her knees hit the ground violently, Milady’s hand still in her hair and the knife still pressed to her throat.

There was a roar of rage, then a brief scuffle as Porthos yelled.

“Athos, no!”

D’Artagnan tried to open her eyes to see what was happening, but she couldn’t. Her head was screaming at her in throbbing pain to keep her eyes shut and stay still.

“You let her go, right now,” Athos’ voice was full of rage, but it still cracked on the last word. Milady laughed.

“Oh I don’t think so, husband dear.”

“I am not your husband, you crazy bitch,” he growled. “You will die for this, I swear it.”

Porthos’ voice joined in, gentler as he tried to get Milady to see reason. “There’s no way out of this. You have no one left to back you up; don’t make this worse than it needs to be.”

The knife was pressed tighter against d’Artagnan’s throat causing her to gasp, and almost faint. She forced herself to stay awake. She needed to listen, and be ready. Porthos’ words were ignored.

“I swore that I would devastate you Athos, and what better way than this? You do this, you made this happen again,” she was pulling d’Artagnan’s hair as she spat out the words. “You know you don’t deserve to be happy, not without me.”

To her surprise, Charline heard Athos chuckle softly. “You think you and I could be happy? Is that really what this is all about?”

“This is about me ruining your life, like you ruined mine,” Milady yelled, the knife at d’Artagnan’s throat disappearing. She cracked an eye open briefly, enough to see that the knife was now being pointed at Athos, who still stood several steps away. Closing her eyes again she quickly tried to take a deep breath while there was no knife to restrict her.

“I didn’t do this to you Anne,” Athos’ gentler tone and use of Milady’s first name made d’Artagnan open her eye to see that he was edging slowly closer to them, his hands held out in a conciliatory gesture. He wasn’t looking back at her, but Charline could see how much he was desperate to look at her, to grab her and pull her to safety. It sang out from him in every bit of tension that held his body. “But I am sorry that this is where we have come to, I truly am.”

“Don’t make it worse for yourself, Milady.”

“This isn’t d’Artagnan’s doing either.”

D’Artagnan was confused as Porthos and Aramis began speaking to her in the same soft tone, their weapons still in hand, but no longer pointing at her. Milady’s knife was still pointing at Athos.

What on earth was going on? Why were they suddenly being nice to her? Couldn’t they see what she had done to her?

Their apologetic bartering had confused Milady enough to keep the knife away from d’Artagnan though, which she was grateful for as she could finally breathe. But she could feel Milady practically vibrating with rage behind her as she closed her eyes once more. Unless they had something up their sleeves, this wasn’t going to keep Milady quiet for long.

Suddenly, a yell broke out behind Charline and she felt Milady turn in surprise. Something slammed into Charline’s broken body, causing her to yell in pain as she landed on the ground, cushioned slightly by a hand under her head. A body lay across her as she opened her eye fully, but she couldn’t see anything as she lay sheltered against the wall. 

Then all she could hear was the soft sound of Athos whispering in her ear, and she sobbed with relief. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know it hurts, it won’t be long...” he continued to whisper, over and over as the scuffle continued around them. Milady was screaming in rage behind them and she heard the sound of a knife dropping to the ground.  
immediately, the weight of Athos’ body holding her down was gone and two arms replaced it, pulling her gently round until she was facing his devastated face, tears plain to see on his cheeks as he tried to smile at her.

“I’m so sorry d’Artagnan, I should never have let you go back, never,” his eyes skittered around her body, trying to assess the damage and wincing every time he saw the suggestion of another bruise.

“Athos,” she whispered, repeating it slightly louder when he didn’t respond the first time.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes full of panic as he looked into hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said, making him look at her in confusion. “I’m sorry I let her do this...not your fault...I love you.” She could feel her voice getting fainter as she tried to speak, and the darkness was starting to creep further in from the edges now. 

She shivered violently, and instantly Athos was yelling for Aramis to come quickly. She glanced over his shoulder to see Milady kneeling on the ground, Treville and Porthos each holding a pistol to her head. As she caught Milady’s eye she found the energy to smile at her before she finally let her mind protect her by blacking out.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are - the end!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and giving me kudos! Hopefully this will satisfy you as an ending to this story. It kind of grew arms and legs from the few chapters it was meant to be, but I hope it's been worth the reading time for you all.
> 
> B xx

Unusually, d’Artagnan was quickly aware that she was, in fact, dreaming, but she really did not care. She was experiencing a version of her recurring nightmare, but this time the darkness had lifted and although she was indeed running through the streets of Paris looking for Athos, she was doing so because he was waiting for her. There was no threat hanging over her, there was nothing hiding around the corners waiting to pounce. This time she ran freely, quickly and with a lightness in her step that matched the happiness that shone through her. 

The streets were empty, and clean, and the sun was shining dutifully down on the ground as she ran, twisting around corners with unnatural ease, until she reached the gates of the garrison and came to a breathless halt. 

Athos was standing in the middle of the empty yard, dressed in just his trousers and a loose, white shirt, and he was grinning at her with a delight that matched her own. Her heart pounded as she looked at him, her smile widening until she felt that she would burst. How could it be possible to love a single person this much? Everything that she was, and everything that she could be, was entirely for him. Forever.

Together they started taking small steps towards each other, a giggle erupting from her as she realised that he was trying to hold himself back from running to her just as she was trying to do. With a just a few steps to go she couldn’t take it anymore and she sprang into his waiting arms, hers tightening around his neck as she buried herself into his embrace. Never had she felt so warm, or so safe.

“D’Artagnan...”

She frowned. The voice wasn’t his.

“D’Artagnan, come on.”

She shook her head against Athos and he tightened his hold.

“Yes d’Artagnan, time to wake up. Come on now.”

“No,” she mumbled painfully, unaware if it was in her dream or in the painful place Aramis was trying to drag her back to.

“You’re going to give Athos a heart attack if you stay asleep much longer d’Artagnan...”

Dammit. Aramis knew fine well how to wake her up. She really didn’t want to leave her comfortable place; she knew there would be pain. But she knew there would be Athos.

The light was painful as she tenderly opened her eyes, both of them this time, a tiny bit. She hissed with the shock, but quickly realised that the room she was in was not particularly bright. After blinking a few times she tried to focus on something, but she could only see a hazy darkness. A voice next to her asked her something in a calming tone, but she couldn’t decipher it. Who had been speaking to her again? She couldn’t remember, or work it out.

A hand grasped the back of her head gently and lifted it a few inches, then something cold and wet touched her lips. Her tongue reached out of its own accord, touching the water that was being offered to her. She opened her mouth a tiny bit, hearing encouraging noises from beside her, and took a small drink. It was unbelievably refreshing. Suddenly she had a voracious thirst and every instinct in her was telling her to gulp at the water before it was taken away, but she only managed a couple of mouthfuls before the cup was removed gently.

“Slowly, d’Art, slowly,” Aramis said. Charline was immensely relieved that she could understand him now.

She mumbled to him and felt his head approach hers as he asked her to repeat herself. She had to try a few more times before she could get the single word out of her dry throat.

“Athos.”

Aramis’ face hovered over hers for a few moments, giving her time to almost focus on him. She could see that he was smiling at her.

“I’ll get him,” he said. “I sent him away for a while because he was driving me crazy, but I’ll go and get him. You’ll need to stay awake sweetheart.”

She tried to nod but winced when pain lanced through her head and neck.

“Easy now,” Aramis said, placing a hand on her head to stop her moving. “I’ll be right back.”

His face disappeared and d’Artagnan concentrated on desperately trying to keep her eyes open, disappointment and frustration taking hold as she found the task impossible. She tried to fight off the sleep that was trying to overtake her, but even as she heard footsteps pounding along the corridor outside the room she lost the fight and let the darkness back in.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“It’s too long Aramis!”

“She will be fine, honestly.”

“You heard the doctor Athos, it’s normal.”

“It is never normal for d’Artagnan to be this quiet, and certainly not for this long.” Athos was trying valiantly to put some humour into his voice, but it couldn’t even begin to mask this fear that was practically dripping from it.

A clap of a hand onto a shoulder. 

“She will wake soon, Athos.”

Charline lay with her eyes shut, still completely exhausted but more awake than she could remember being for some time. She let the sound of her musketeers’ voices wash over her as she lay on the bed, flat on her back and unwilling to test any movement quite yet.

“Athos, you must get some rest,” Porthos sounded worried.

“No.”

“You’ve not moved from here for nearly three days man!”

“No.”

“I’ll get you immediately when she-”

“No!” he hissed forcefully. “I will not leave. I missed her last time, this time I will stay here until she wakes up.”

A sigh from either Porthos or Aramis. 

“You will be no use to her if you make yourself ill,” Porthos said gently.

“I do not need to be ‘of use’, she has both of you after all,” Athos retorted. His voice softened to a whisper. “I just need to be here.”

“I’m awake,” d’Artagnan eventually croaked, unwilling to listen to the despair in his voice any longer. There was a flurry of movement around her and by the time she had forced her eyes open she had three concerned musketeers peering at her, Athos’ face closest to hers and his hand hovering near her cheek as if he was desperate to touch her. She smiled at Aramis and Porthos before settling her gaze on him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He said nothing but smiled back at her, not quite covering the concern in his eyes.

“Water?” she asked, not moving her eyes from his face until he was nudged gently out of the way by Aramis, who snaked his hand under her head and lifted her to give her a drink.

“Slowly,” he warned.

“I remember,” she said, before sipping slowly at the beverage.

Eventually she couldn’t cope with being held in the position anymore and he placed her carefully back down. He was immediately brushed aside by Porthos, who apparently wanted his chance to check her over.

“How do you feel?” he asked. She could sense Athos hovering on the peripheral, agitated.

“Sore,” she said, minimising the truth as far as she could. She heard Aramis call over.

“I’ll check you over once I get these two out of the way.”

“Alright.”

Porthos smiled at her again, but moved out of the way to let Athos back to her side. He leaned over to kiss her gently on the forehead before he pulled up a stool and sat next to her, holding her hand gently.

“We’ll leave you for a few minutes,” Aramis said. “But then I need to check her over Athos, and you need to get some rest.”

“Fine,” Athos answered, between gritted teeth. He would do it unwillingly, but he would follow his friend’s medical advice.

A few seconds later the door closed gently and Athos lifted their clasped hands to his lips, just holding her hand against her mouth as he stared at her.

She smiled at him, desperate to reach out and touch him, but aware of the pain that moving could cause her right now. “I’m alright,” she whispered.

“No, you’re not,” he replied, his voice shaking. “You are anything but ‘alright’ d’Artagnan and-”

“If you say this is your fault,” she burst out angrily. “I will punch you as soon as I am physically able to do so.”

He shook his head once, but didn’t try to say it again, much to her relief. Her eyes filled. “I need you to get past it Athos. Once I’m back on my feet, which will be as quick I can manage it, I’m going to need you. Please.”

She hadn’t quite articulated what she was trying to say to him, but she hoped he’d be able to work out what her slightly fuzzy mind was trying to say to him. He kissed her hand gently and smiled at her.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

“Good. Now would you kiss me properly please?”

He looked at her doubtfully, eyeing her presumably pale face with concern. She huffed at him.

“I won’t break! And my mouth is perfectly fine, so kiss me please!” she commanded, making him chuckle. Slowly, he stood up, dropping her hand gently back to the bed. He leaned forward slowly, grasping her face as gently as he could as he attempted to avoid stitches and bruises, and brought his lips gently to hers. She sighed happily as he brushed their lips together several times, then moved his lips to her cheeks, chin, forehead... anywhere he could reach that wasn’t coloured by her pain.

He sat back down. “Better?” he raised an eyebrow in question.

“Much,” she said honestly. “Although I look forward to being able to do that properly.”

He laughed for a moment, but sobered as he looked over her bruises once again. “I hate this,” he said. “I hate seeing you like this, and I hate not being able to do anything about it.”

“I’m not really enjoying it much myself either,” she joked lightly. “But it will pass.”

He took hold of her hand again, running his thumb back and forth over it. 

“Aramis will be back soon,” she commented.

“Yes.”

“Do you think...will...” she trailed off.

“What?” Athos asked, obviously worried at the frown of concern that had found its way onto her face.

She sighed. “Do you think he’ll bring me something to eat? I’m starving.”

Athos was still laughing, and she was still lying seething, when Aramis knocked briskly on the door a few minutes later, carrying his full medical back and a plate of cheese and bread. 

“What on earth...?” Aramis gaped after Athos as he left, having stood to quickly kiss her on the head before sweeping out of the room to follow Aramis’ instructions to get some sleep, chuckling.

“Never mind,” she said. She was not going to tell Aramis that he was laughing at her skewed priorities, thinking of her stomach before her health. He would be worse than Athos.

He shrugged. “Right, well let’s check you out shall we? Then you can try and eat something. The doctor will be here soon, but I thought we should probably check while you’re awake.”

She nodded, aware that her eyelids were drooping again. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Other than the fact you were beaten senseless you mean?”

“What injuries?” she asked, pleased to find she could roll her eyes without a bout of dizziness.

“Oh. Well, aside from the cut to your eye, there’s facial bruising, a cracked cheekbone, extensive bruising to your legs and torso (but luckily no internal bleeding), two broken ribs and two cracked ones, a gash on the back of your head that was slightly infected and a broken wrist,” he rhymed it all off quickly and she knew that she wasn’t the first person who had quizzed him about her injuries.

“Is that all?” she gaped at him as he pulled her up gently to a sitting position so he could check her torso, fire bursting through her ribcage as he did so and making at cry out in pain.

“All?” he asked, askance. “It’s bloody plenty to be going on with! The ribs and the infected cut are bad enough to start. When I say extensive bruising I mean really extensive. Look!”

He pulled the blankets away from her and she gasped. She was wearing her underwear but the skin that she could see on the bottom of her legs and her stomach was almost black in places, spotted with purple around the fleshier parts.

“Now do you see?”

“Has Athos seen this?” she asked, closing her eyes as she imagined his reaction.

“Not entirely,” Aramis admitted. “I didn’t think it would be conducive. He saw you in the tunnel before the bruises started to come up, and that was plenty.”

Charline stayed quiet as Aramis got to work and started checking over her injuries. He looked at the colouring of her bruises, checked her temperature (for the infection, she presumed), pressed carefully at her ribs making her hiss a little, and tightened the splint she had only just realised was on her left wrist. She asked no questions, and he told her nothing.

“There we go,” he said finally, easing her back into the pillows he had laid at her back. “The doctor will be quite pleased I think.”

She smiled back at him.

“What did he do?” she asked, taking him by surprise.

“What do you mean?” 

“Athos. You said seeing me in the tunnel was plenty. What did he do?” she had a horrible feeling he had given himself something else to regret forever.

Aramis sighed and sat at Athos’ abandoned stool. “Nothing, d’Artagnan, he did nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. You said...”

“I know what I said,” he cut her off. “He didn’t do anything, stop worrying.”

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when he added on his next statement. “Porthos stopped him.”

She gaped at him for a minute. “Porthos stopped him what?”

“He was going to kill her, that’s all.”

D’Artagnan paused to think this through for a minute. She wasn’t surprised, or particularly bothered, that he had wanted to kill Milady. “You mean he didn’t?”

“No. She’s in jail.”

“But the cardinal!”

“Is being kept away from her. We’re not stupid you know,” he raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed lightly. “Look, I should let Athos tell you this...”

“No, please Aramis. He’s worried enough about me without having to talk about all of it just now.” She reached out her uninjured hand to him.

“Alright,” he sighed, bringing a hand up and rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Do you remember what happened until you collapsed?”

“Yes,” she shivered.

“Well, when I got to you Athos threw himself at Milady. She laughed at him d’Artagnan, actually laughed at him. Evil bitch.”

“No argument from me.”

“The thing is, she wanted him to kill her. He had her by the hair, the same way she had held you, and he had a knife to her throat. I thought he was going to do it, and I wouldn’t have judged him for a second. Hell, I wanted to do it myself. I could see that Porthos wasn’t far away from firing the pistol in his hand either. But then she started goading him, telling him to kill her as it was what he wanted to do. What he should have done properly the first time, and then none of this would have happened to you.”

Charline winced.

“I heard Porthos starting to plead with him. He told me afterwards that he could see in Athos’ eyes the effect it was all having on him, and what it would do to him if he became the murderer she wanted him to be.”

D’Artagnan knew exactly what he meant. The heartache he had faced for five years after doing his duty when she had murdered someone would twist with the guilt about what Milady had done since she had escaped her fate, including d’Artagnan’s own troubles. It would slowly kill him, no matter how much he hated Milady, or how much she deserved to die. He still blamed himself for what she had become. She couldn’t stand the thought of watching him struggle with it all over again.

“So what happened?”

“He threw down the knife and dropped her to the ground. The captain and Porthos left with her immediately, in fact I think Porthos hit her to stop her taunting him some more.”

“Good.”

“Oh how I wish it had been me,” Aramis grinned at her, looking suddenly far more relaxed.

Aramis told her how Treville had hidden her away in the south of the city, guarded by two musketeers who were not admitted to the building. They didn’t even know who they were guarding. Treville was the only one with a key. Charline was astounded by Aramis’ answer when she asked what was to happen to her.

“Me?” she squeaked. “I’ve to decide?”

“Athos insisted.”

“I don’t know if I can do that Aramis.”

He shrugged. “There’s no rush. Talk to Athos about it.”

“Oh I will,” she said. What on earth could he be thinking, asking her to make that kind of decision? 

“Don’t think about it yet,” he advised. “Use your time to get yourself better. The quicker you are out there with a sword in your hand the happier we will all be.”

“Me too. Two weeks, Aramis. Give me two weeks and I’ll be back fighting with you.”

Aramis just shook his head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the end it was seven weeks. Seven, long, weeks of asking to get out of bed and being told no, or let out for a tantalising half hour, then an hour, then maybe two, before being bundled back into it again. She was at the barracks, in the sick room she had been taken to by Athos before, which at least meant she was constantly attended and visited (or teased, or cheated out of money at cards). She was frustrated, bored and annoyed that she was still sore even after this long of resting her ribs, her wrist, and every other bit of her that she had been forced to keep still for the torturous age of her convalescence. 

Constance had been a regular fixture, making sure her hours were filled when the others had to attend to their duties. She had been amazed when d’Artagnan filled her in on everything that had happened and had eaten up the details as she got them out of her friend. She seemed enthralled by the violence and wistful of what information she could glean about d’Artagnan’s relationship with Athos, and if d’Artagnan was honest with herself she was happy to get the chance to relive it all over again.

Now she sat drumming her fingers on the bed as she sat waiting impatiently. They had promised today that she could finally come down to the yard and hold a sword for the first time. Athos had protested, as she expected him to, but finally he had relented and said that Porthos could train her a little, under his supervision. 

She heard footsteps moving along the corridor outside and got to her feet, grabbing her sword and pistol so that she was ready to go. Athos smiled as he walked in, watching her placing her weapons around her middle firmly.

“I get it d’Artagnan,” he said. “I’m not going to try and stop you, don’t worry.”

She lifted her chin and stared at him through clear eyes, the bruising that had coloured her face now long gone. “Good.”

He looked her over for a minute, grinning as she raised an eyebrow in question. “It’s been a while since I saw you like this. I’ve missed it.”

She looked down at herself and smiled. It had indeed been a while since she had stood in front of him, fully disguised as her alter-ego and ready and eager for a fight. 

“Perhaps you could spare me a minute before you go?” 

At the hint in his voice she gave him a coy smile, then threw herself into his arms, refusing to wince as she felt a very slight complaint in her ribs. She pressed her lips firmly to his, opening her mouth to him as he pulled her tightly to him. It had been far too long since they had done this, or since he had gently pushed her away when she had tried to kiss him this fiercely. She would pout at the firm look on his face, but he had never given in like this. He groaned as she spread her fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in the way she knew would drive him to distraction.

“Unfair, d’Artagnan,” he whispered against her lips.

“Who knew that me dressing like a boy would drive you this crazy Athos,” she teased him.

“It’s you that’s driving me crazy, no matter what you wear.”

She grinned at him then deepened the kiss once more, hoping that if she did enough now she would persuade him that she could leave the barracks tonight...

Eventually he pulled away, reluctance clear in his expression as he reminded her that Porthos was waiting downstairs for them.

“You better sort yourself out then,” she said seriously, laughing when he looked puzzled and reaching up to fix his hair, which would scream to Aramis and Porthos that he had just been thoroughly kissed.

“So this is it then, I’m free,” she said. It was not a question.

“As agreed,” he nodded.

“Good,” she said, nudging him with her hip as she passed him to reach the door. “Then I most definitely don’t want to stay here tonight.”

She let the thought play on his mind for now as she slipped out the door and practically ran to the stairs then down into the yard where Porthos was indeed waiting for her.

“Ready?” he grinned at her obvious excitement.

“Most definitely,” she nodded vigorously.

“Have you done it yet?” he asked quietly.

Charline looked behind her and saw that Athos was now making his way down the stairs. “No,” she shushed him. “Later.”

They still hadn’t discussed what was to happen with Milady; in fact her name hadn’t even been mentioned by either of them in each other’s presence. It was a small cloud that was hanging over them, and she had promised Porthos and Aramis that she would bring it up and get it dealt with. She just didn’t want the small cloud to turn into a huge one and start a storm.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It seemed she had worked her magic earlier on, as Athos had said nothing when she had fallen into step with him at the end of the day and walked with him back to his home. They hadn’t spoken for the whole journey, but d’Artagnan had thrummed with tension as they walked, desperate to reach out and take his hand, or stop him and wind her hands into his hair as she kissed him.

Apparently he had been feeling the same thing as the closing of the door behind them had found her firmly in his arms, and her clothes being removed one item at a time before his had followed and they fell into his freshly made bed. So this had been his plan after all. She forgot to question him about the suspiciously clean sheets as he took his time showing her exactly how much he had missed her.

Later, once they had regained their breath, he pulled her gently until she was lying on her front, stretched out on top of his body with her hands resting on his chest and her chin balancing there as she gazed at him. Her toes were teasing the top of his feet.

“We need to talk about it,” she said quietly, confident that now the lack of tension between them would make it easier.

He just smiled at her a little, and waited.

She sighed then placed a quick kiss on his chest. “I hate her,” she started. His hand started stroking up and down her naked back, never wavering in its movement. “I don’t know that I’ve ever truly hated a person before, but I do hate her.”

Athos nodded and smiled at her in encouragement.

“She deserves to die for what she did, to everyone she came in contact with, not just us. I know that I would rest easier knowing that she is no longer part of the world.”

“Then that’s what we do...”

“No, Athos,” she shook her head. “You do not want her dead. If you did you would have killed her there and then in that tunnel, we both know that.”

He frowned a little. “If you want her dead she dies. Treville is happy to have her executed. It’s what the law demands.”

“I know you would do that for me,” she said, her eyes welling slightly. “And I thank you for it, I do. But no, I don’t want her dead. I understand your reasons for struggling with it, and I’m not worried that it’s to do with any feelings you may have for her...”

Athos snorted. “I should hope not.”

“But I couldn’t do that to you. There must be another option, somewhere we can put her that she can do no harm, can contact no one, and can stay there until she rots,” d’Artagnan’s voice got fiercer as she neared the end of her speech.

“Treville offered a private prison in England,” Athos said quietly. “The cardinal would be told of her death, seen as the Queen as seen fit to pardon him for the moment. She could do no harm there and could tell no one our secret.”

“I want her to suffer, Athos,” she said, being completely honest with him.

“As do I. She will,” he said firmly. His hand finally stopped stroking her back and came to rest on her neck, his other hand rising to meet it. “Have I told you recently how much I love you, Charline D’Artagnan?”

She grinned at him. “Not today.”

He dragged her up his body until their lips were level and kissed her gently.

“Athos,” she whispered. “There’s something else.”

He pulled back from her and looked at her, confused. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“What?”

“Well, don’t you think we need to make a plan? Can I really go back to being Charles?”

“Do you want to be yourself?”

“No! I want to live this life as long as I possibly can, or as long as we possibly can,” she smiled at him, noticing the warmth that flooded his face as she included him.

“Then what?”

“Well, I was thinking more of a contingency plan. Like how we get out of this and get me as I truly am into your life when the time comes.”

“Did you have something in mind?”

She nodded eagerly. This was what she had been doing during the nights of the last seven weeks when Athos had not allowed himself to touch her like this. 

“A twin!” she said triumphantly. “I will start talking about my twin sister, Charline, and when the time comes poor Charles will meet with an honourable death in battle, and Charline will come to Paris to meet with the men who were his friends.”

“And she and I will fall instantly in love with each other?” he asked dryly.

“Well,” she grinned. “She is pretty irresistible, that sister of mine.”

Athos let out a bark of laughter and rolled her over so that she was pressed underneath him. He leant on his elbows and smiled down at her.

“That, my love, is a genius plan.”

“I know,” she said smugly. “I’m not so bad at this you know.”

He leant down and captured her lips with his for a moment, before moving slowly down her body to kiss every part of her he could reach. She sighed happily, almost missing his question.

“And when do you envisage this tragic event taking place?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she said, squirming a little as he reached her belly button. “When I can’t get away with that lack of beard any longer? Or I can’t stand the bandages anymore.”

Athos stopped his journey and crawled back up her body until he was lying face to face with her once more. “Or until I can’t stand you not being my wife any longer and insist that you marry this poor, widowed musketeer?”

A burst of happiness that could have filled the entirety of Paris shot through her body, but she hid it with a casual look and a small shrug. “Or then, I suppose.”

The look on Athos’ face made her burst out laughing and he pressed himself to her with a growl.

“I do love you, Athos,” she said, growing completely serious as she took in the handsome face in front of her, as always finding something new in it to admire.

“Just as well, d’Artagnan,” he replied, attacking her neck with his mouth in a way that made her squeal with laughter. “Just as well.”

 

The End.


End file.
